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^‘Take that look out of the eyes, if the picture is of me. 
Take it out, 1 cannot look at it.” — Frontispiece. 


A 


THE 

JUDGMENT 


BY 

Mary R. H. King 

Illustrated by Julian Onderdonk 



Cochrane Publishing Co. 

Tribune Building, New York 
1911 


Copyright, 1911, by 
Cochrane Publishing Co. 



©Ci.A2S6803 


Truest friend, kindliest critic, staunch support, 
Maker of my plot, co-weaver of my plan — 

/ go forth dedicated to my 

‘"Sister’^ 

And to those who helped her in giving me existence. 


‘The Judgment.” 


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I 




THE JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER I 

Joseph Howard loved his wife, so unselfishly that 
her self-centered disposition had not embittered nor 
estranged his love. Years had accustomed him to her 
selfish demands until it had grown into a habit to 
expect of her no sacrifice. He had unconsciously 
fostered this trait until she carelessly demanded of 
others sacrifices such as she herself would never 
have dreamed of making. 

In her fashionable set, pretty young Mrs. Howard 
was a well-known favorite of the social world. Pam- 
pered before her marriage, she knew no reason for 
giving to irksome domestic duties the time she 
lavished upon social pleasures. 

Though at twenty she was a wife, no demand of 
motherhood came to disturb her gay serenity for five 
years. The child, Eleanor, was like her father, de- 
termined, truthful and magnanimous; like him also in 
her eager impetuosity. From him she inherited her 
tall, straight form, her slender patrician hands and 
feet, her large brown eyes that glowed with tender 
love or burned and blazed with indignation. Her head 
was crowned with her mother's curling hair, but its 
golden tints shaded into the soberer shades of the 
father's, until the whole was a mass of reddish brown 


6 


THE JUDGMENT 


and gold, while her soft pink cheeks and crimson lips 
brought out the fairness of her fresh white skin. 

As she grew, her beauty developed, and at fifteen, 
like a bud half opened, she gave rich promise. She 
was her father’s greatest pride and joy; between them 
existed a rare degree of companionship. While they 
enjoyed many things in common, the individuality of 
each was so strong that often between them arose 
struggles of will in which neither was willing to give 
way. 

Dr. Louis Bryan, her father’s old-time friend, was 
generally Eleanor’s ally in these wars of words, but 
sometimes he would oppose her for the joy of seeing 
her fight her battles unaided. ‘'Our little rebel,” they 
called her, delighting in the term. First for her 
father’s, then for her own sake. Dr. Bryan loved 
Eleanor, and claimed her as half his own, in the place 
of the longed for child denied him in his own brief 
married life. Like his friend. Dr. Bryan was of South- 
ern birth. This closely cemented the friendship be- 
tween them, surrounded as they were by the distinctly 
Northern type. 

To the joy of them both, Eleanor was more like a 
Southern girl than might have been expected from her 
Northern training and the prejudices of her narrow 
minded mother. The impulsive generosity and warm- 
hearted lovingness of the South was tempered in her 
by the coolly independent spirit of the North, a baffling 
combination where the two elements often warred. 

When she was fifteen, her father died. With all the 
intensity of her ardent nature she grieved for him, 
and from that time the bonds between herself and the 
old Doctor grew into the close knit cords of sympa- 
thizing love. They became greater comrades than 


THE JUDGMENT 


7 


ever, and often on her daily way to the fashionable 
school where she was being “finished/’ Eleanor would 
stop for a few minutes chat with him, sometimes leav- 
ing behind her a flower, sometimes only the recollec- 
tion of her bright face and fondly teasing words. 

Mrs. Howard stubbornly refused to follow Dr. 
Bryan’s advice, urging the continuance of her hus- 
band’s investments, and placed her fortune in the 
hands of Johnson Evans, an old-time admirer of her 
own. He absconded, leaving them dependent upon 
Eleanor’s small inheritance from her maternal grand- 
mother. 

This loss fell with stunning force upon Mrs. 
Howard, and left her prostrated. Instead of recogniz- 
ing that ruin had come through her own stubborn 
will, she reiterated her lamentations of the unkindness 
of fate, and declared that rather than endure priva- 
tions she preferred to die, until her health began a 
rapid decline, and she became a troublesome, fault- 
finding invalid. 

Eleanor, was now nearly nineteen, and her beautiful 
face bore the shadow of the heavy burden laid upon 
her shoulders. She had begun to realize that there was 
not enough in the frivolous education given by her 
thoughtless mother to fit her for any responsible work, 
and moreover, to this plan her mother offered the most 
stubborn opposition, saying that the day on which 
Eleanor chose to disgrace herself by work, she would 
surely die. 

William Manning was forty-five. Sated with pleas- 
ure; worn out by excess; thrust as a boy into pre- 
mature manhood by enormous wealth, and with utter 
absence of control, he had become, when man should 
be strongest, merely a suggestion of what he might 


8 


THE JUDGMENT 


have been. Selfishness was so engrafted to his soul 
that it left no room for thought or care for others. 
Small and slender; his little head was covered with 
straight black hair, and his close set black eyes shone 
brightly in his pointed, sallow face. 

Since the days of her early marriage, Mrs. Howard 
had known Manning, and after her husband's death 
he was a frequent visitor at her house. She had often 
thought of a second marriage during her young 
widowhood, but after losing her money, the offers of 
marriage were not many. 

Mrs. Howard's nature was not one to enlarge upon 
the beauty of another, and in her comparisons of their 
attractiveness, her daughter's beauty always suffered. 
'‘So overgrown," she deplored, "and her hair and her 
eyes, well, thank heaven my hair is golden and my 
eyes are blue." So when Manning's visits grew more 
frequent, she had no thought of Eleanor as their cause, 
and her surprise when he told her was genuine. Al- 
ways resourceful with her own interests at stake, she 
quickly recovered herself and accepted the situation 
with mental thanksgiving, that by this new arrange- 
ment she could enjoy its many benefits without the 
responsibilities of marriage. She was fully aware that 
Manning had sunk as low as men of high position 
sometimes sink, and that his tattered reputation hung 
to the skeleton of his lost respectability, but the glow 
of the promised golden harvest concealed his moral 
turpitude, and her eyes brightened while her cordial 
outstretched hands assured him of her co-operation. 

For several months Manning's admiration for 
Eleanor had been quickening until no longer satisfied 
with fleeting glimpses, he had decided to visit her at 
home. The girl's indifference baffled him, and held 


THE JUDGMENT 


9 


him off a little awed by the unconsciousness of un- 
spoiled girlhood. He was surprised to find himself 
liking this new experience, of a woman looking at him 
with calm, unblinded eyes, his money a disregarded thing. 

In his proposal, Mrs. Howard at once found the 
happiest solution of her problems. With Eleanor 
married to Manning, there need no longer remain the 
question of how to stretch their income to afford the 
luxuries she craved. This would remove any neces- 
sity for Eleanor's working, and all fears of privations 
for herself. ‘‘She is so like her father that she cannot 
refuse me anything," she mused, congratulating her- 
self. As Eleanor entered the room, she lost no time. 
“Guess who has been here again, Dearie?" 

“One of your friends?" 

“One of our friends; one who is anxious to become 
our closest friend. Can’t you make one little guess?" 

“I have only one good friend; and it can’t be Dr. 
Bryan, for I have just left him." 

“No, it is some one who will soon be much nearer 
than Dr. Bryan,’’ and Mrs. Howard’s voice was rather 
sharp. She had never shared her husband’s love for 
their outspoken old friend. 

“Then I could never guess ; no one could ever be so 
near to me as Dr. Bryan." 

“Then I will tell you ; it was Mr. Manning." 

“Yes? He must find it pleasant here to make a 
second visit this week." 

“He does, and he proposes to come oftener." 

“What a distinction," laughed Eleanor. 

Mrs. Howard was finding it hard to convey her 
meaning. “Can’t you imagine his motive, Eleanor, 
dear?" she asked, with an appealing tone in her voice. 

At the familiar note, Eleanor turned, realizing that 


10 


THE JUDGMENT 


something lay beneath her mother’s words, and an- 
swered: “Why, no, did he have a motive?” 

.-Yes— you.” 

“I! How could I be a motive for his visit?” 

When Mrs. Howard was excited she showed it. 

“Oh, Eleanor! do not refuse him,” she cried, the 
usual tears starting from her eyes as she ran to 
Eleanor to throw her arms about her, but Eleanor, be- 
ing tall, it was not convenient to embrace her in 
an unresponsive mood. Angered at this, Mrs. Howard 
began to weep. “You are just like the rest of the 
world, refusing me my heart’s one desire. You never 
think how I have suffered for you, or how my health 
is declining under all these awful privations, since I 
lost my money,” she complained, as she threw her- 
self upon the couch, sobbing loudly. 

To Eleanor the cause of the outbreak was not plain. 
She could not see why she should be blamed, but she 
was so familiar with her mother’s methods that she 
stood quietly waiting for the hysterics to subside and 
the secret to be made plain. 

“Really, Mother,” she said coldly, “I think this very 
unnecessary. If I have done anything to offend you, 
I am entirely unconscious of it; and as for Mr. Man- 
ning, since I have not seen him, I could hardly have 
offended him.” 

Mrs. Howard lifted pleading hands: “Just listen! 
Just listen! You are perfectly heartless! No feeling 
at all!” Her anger increased with her tears. “To think 
how I have suffered for you, how I have watched over 
you, looked after your welfare and your chances in 
life. Oh ! Eleanor, some day I hope you will suffer as 
I am suffering now; that some day your heart may 
receive stabs from a heartless, thankless child.” 


THE JUDGMENT 


11 


While Eleanor was outwardly calm she was in- 
wardly tumultuous. '‘What have I done now? Will 
you stop crying and tell me what you mean?'’ 

"Oh, you need not pretend that you do not see how 
easy it will make matters for us if you will only marry 
Mr. Manning." 

Eleanor's eyes grew wild. "Marry Mr. Manning ! I ? 
Mother, have you lost your mind ? What on earth put 
such an idea into your head?" 

"He did. He put it there himself. He is wildly in 
love with you, and not an hour ago he asked my con- 
sent," her mother answered, at once revived, misled 
by Eleanor's calm, but almost before her mother's 
words were spoken, Eleanor's wrath culminated. 

"The impertinent beast !" she cried, her eyes ablaze, 
"I would not marry him if there were not another man 
alive, and you can tell him so." 

At this her mother screamed again : 

"Oh, think! Think, Eleanor, of how rich he is, and 
how poor we are. You know that I can no longer keep 
my maid, and it tires me so to comb my hair." 

"I can comb it for you," Eleanor answered grimly. 

"No! you pull it. Such cruelty will kill me; how 
can you hesitate when he can give us everything?" 
Eleanor interrupted — "Mother! is there nothing bet- 
ter than money? Can money change his evil charac- 
ter? I do not want to marry any one, much less such 
a man as that. I will w^ork for you; I will protect 
you ; I can find a place as governess ; surely l am com- 
petent for that, and I will work hard for you, but '* 

She got no further, for her mother had fainted. Call- 
ing for help, but afraid to leave, Eleanor chafed the 
white hands until slow life returned. 

Mrs. Howard was not strong. Scenes like this re- 




12 THE JUDGMENT 

duced her strength, leaving her a pitiful spectacle of 
weakness. But under the faded blonde beauty, there 
lay an indomitable will, and although she was con- 
fined to her bed for days, she never ceased her plead- 
ing. 

With determined effort, day by day, she persisted. 
Argument only angered her, and when Eleanor finally 
refused to discuss the subject, it brought a fresh out- 
break of rage and tears, followed by increasing weak- 
ness. 

Dr. Bryan came and tried to quiet her excitement. 
''No, Dr. Bryan, you do not know Eleanor. Her stub- 
bornness is sinful. She is refusing what any other 
girl in New York would be only too glad to get, and 
she will never again have such a chance. He has been 
here five times this week, and each time she refused 
to see him. It is nothing but stubbornness, and I be- 
lieve she does it to kill me, which it is doing,’^ and she 
wound up her argument with another outburst of 
weeping. 

‘'See here, Mrs. Howard, you must stop this at 
once; you cannot drive Eleanor into such a shameful 
thing as you propose. Do you want the servants to 
hear you, and to spread the report of it broadcast? 
I am ashamed of you, and if you will not control your- 
self, I must administer something that will quiet you.” 

Angered by his tone, as much as by what he said, 
a worse attack than usual came on. When she had 
grown quiet, Eleanor and Dr. Bryan, thankful for a 
few minutes talk, sought the library. With an arm 
around her, he stroked her bowed head, while behind 
his spectacles tears shone. "Bear up, little girl, bear 
up,” was all he could say in his effort to console her. 

Eleanor was far too tired to cry. For six days and 


THE JUDGMENT 


13 


nights she had listened to the same incessant com- 
plaints and charges of unkindness, and had seen each 
attack of her mother’s hysteria followed by prostra- 
tion more pronounced and alarming. 

When at last she lifted her head, the somber eyes 
with their great dark circles brought an added pain 
to the tender heart of the old man. 

‘'Help me. Doctor — ^Tell me, what can I do? Must 
I give in ?” she asked, her voice hoarse and strained. 

“Of course not, my child. It is horrible to make 
such a demand of you, and you shall not sacrifice your- 
self in any such infernal way. You know I love you; 
that you are as dear to me as if you were my own, and 
shall I sit by and see you sacrificed to a man of Man- 
ning’s stamp to gratify your mother’s heartless selfish- 
ness?” 

“It has not come to that yet. I have refused her, 
but if she dies, I shall feel that I have killed her.” 
Her voice rose excitedly. “How could I face father? 
He told me to watch over her. He said to me with 
almost his last whisper: ‘Stick to Bryan, Eleanor, and 
take care of Mamma.’ ” 

“Tut! tut! child; that is nonsense. If your mother 
dies to-night, it is not your fault, it is her own ungov- 
ernable nature that is killing her.” 

The girl caught at the words “is killing her.” “Then 
she will die, you mean?” her eyes were wide and 
frightened. “Tell me,” she demanded. He tried to 
calm her. “Eleanor, don’t look like that. Be brave.” 

She paid no heed, but cried in terror: “Tell me, is 
she dying? Tell me, you must!” 

“Not yet, but she very soon may be if she does not 
improve,” he answered, not daring to refuse. “She 
is greatly weakened, and she was never strong.” He 


14 


THE JUDGMENT 


did not add that in his opinion it would be a good 
thing if she were dead. 

“She will die, and I shall have killed her! Poor, 
weak little Mamma. This is how I have kept my 
promise to Dad.” Her overwrought conscience 
scourged her to agony through the long hours of the 
night, as she sat watching her mother’s disturbed 
sleep, and there Eleanor made her decision. 

In the pale uncertain light of early morning, Eleanor 
stood at her mother’s window, looking towards the 
rose-tinted promises of the sun. When her mother 
began to move, she whispered brokenly : “Oh, help me, 
Dad!” 

As the querulous voice called, “Eleanor !” she turned 
toward the bed, and with a brave effort to control her 
voice, answered: “Yes, mother, I am here. Is there 
anything you want?” 

The same plaint again: “I am so unhappy! so mis- 
erable !” 

Then the girl spoke, and if her voice was cold, her 
mother did not know or care, for the words she heard 
brought happiness enough. “Mother, we need have no 
more of this. I will marry Mr. Manning, since 
nothing else will cure you.” 

In an instant the invalid’s face brightened ; she tried 
to raise herself, outstretched her arms and cried out 
joyfully: “Darling, come to me! How happy you make 
your poor sick mother!” Eleanor’s tone was lifeless 
when she spoke. “No, go to sleep again; excitement 
is not good for you. If the man comes to-day I will 
tell him. I am going to my room, but I’ll send Jane 
to you.” 

Not for years had Manning been so eager as after 
reading the note Mrs. Howard sent him when Eleanor 


THE JUDGMENT 


16 


left the room, but despite the good news, his air 
was less jaunty and his sallow face showed a few added 
lines, brought there by the past six days of wait- 
ing. His small, black eyes burned with a feverish glow 
as he waited for Eleanor, and as she entered the room, 
his dry lips tightened and the nervous brightness of 
his eyes was startling. He moved toward her eagerly, 
but she checked his advance by a curt nod of saluta- 
tion, and a cold: ‘‘Will you be seated?’’ 

His hot hand dropped, and he waited for her to 
speak. His eyes were never still, but searched and 
searched and sparkled in a way which no one likes to 
sec. 

With her natural straightforwardness, she came 
directly to the point. “My mother says you want to 
marry me. What made you think of such a thing?” 

The tension loosened, his relief showed plainly in 
his face, as he answered, trying hard to keep his voice 
controlled: “The sight of you did that. I want you 
because you are the most beautiful woman in New 
York.” 

The girl’s face was disdainful, and her voice rang 
hard. “I do not care for flattery,” she said, “and if I 
marry you, I assure you it is only to save my mother’s 
life. The Doctor tells me she will die unless the ex- 
citement is removed. Nothing else on earth could 
make me consent to it. I do not wish to marry any- 
one, certainly not you.” Her eyes and accent showed 
indescribable contempt. 

He made an effort at lightness. “It grieves me that 
you do not love me, since my love for you is so great, 
but even so, I still desire you for my own. You may 
yet learn to love me.” 

“It is hardly likely,” she replied. To any other man 


16 


THE JUDGMENT 


her tone and look would have been insult, but Man- 
ning only laughed. ''Then let me say I have enough 
for both, and at any rate you will make the loveliest 
wife a man ever had.” 

He tried to place his hand on hers, but at the con- 
tact she snatched her own away as if his touch had 
burned her. She turned to him in pale-faced fury, her 
eyes ablaze, exclaiming : "How dare you ! Move back !” 

Into Manning’s black eyes crept a look which 
Eleanor later learned to know. He laughed shortly 
as he moved backward. "Just as you like. Let me 
hope that you may acquire more sociability. Wives 
do sometimes.” Then after a moment, he resumed: 
"May I venture to beg that you will not postpone 
my happiness?” 

A hunted look crept to her face, as breathing quickly 
she replied: "Surely there is no hurry. We need not 
now discuss the time.” 

Manning’s cruel smile gathered. "Would you keep 
me longer in suspense? I have suffered for six days, 
and now that happiness awaits me, I am eager for it. 
I cannot wait so do not ask it, but marry me at once.” 

"At once!” she cried, drawing still further away 
from him. Her hand sought her throat as if to loosen 
a choking grasp, and her stricken eyes would have 
moved to pity any soul less mean; Manning’s eyes 
leaped with greedy satisfaction when he caught the 
look, which was almost fear, and he mercilessly pressed 
his advantage. 

"But I am not ready ; my mother is still dangerously 
ill, and until last night, I had not even considered the 
possibility of such a thing,” she urged, uncertainty 
and helplessness mingling with anger in her heart and 

voice. 


THE JUDGMENT 


17 


Finally he pretended leniency. ‘‘Then I will call 
this evening, when I hope you will choose the date 
for our marriage, and make me, soon, the happiest of 
men.’' 

When he had gone, Eleanor stood immovable, her 
hands clenched together, her wide eyes staring ahead. 
Despair dried her tears, and drove them \|)ack to her 
tortured heart. ‘‘Nothing to hope for, nothing, 
nothing,’’ she whispered, as Dr. Bryan entered. “What 
is this your mother tells me, Eleanor?” he asked, half 
fiercely ; but when he saw Eleanor’s face, he rushed to 
her, and tried to draw her to his arms. 

“Don’t,” she cried wildly, “I cannot bear it. Don’t 
be good to me now. Be like the rest of the world; be 
a devil!” 

“Eleanor,” the old man begged, “listen to me, let 
your old friend talk. You are not going to do this 
awful thing. That vile fellow shall never touch your 
footprints, much less your heart, to bruise and 
break it.” 

“Hush!” she interrupted, “I must do it. Let my old 
self die, never try to revive it, only stand by me when 
you can.” 

“Damnable selfishness !” the old man groaned, as 
the door closed. “That little cur her husband! My 
God! I’d rather she had died! Howard! Our little 
girl !” He bent before the picture of his friend, and hot 
tears streamed down his face. 

Mrs. Howard’s delight was unbounded. “We will 
have everything now,” she told herself, “we can live 
in luxury ; my privations will soon be ended.” 

Resting happily upon her pillows, the pale color re- 
turning to her white face, an afterthought came. “It 
is the best for Eleanor; she couldn’t work, and no 


18 


THE JUDGMENT 


doubt she will soon get used to him. I’m very sure 
rd like a man who could give me so much.” Her 
thoughts grew rapturous, anticipating the envy of her 
friends. Her smiling face evidenced the joy that filled 
her, and left no trace of pity for the girl fighting the 
unequal struggle between her distorted idea of duty 
and her outraged sense of maidenly virtue. And Eleanor 
remained silent; her face grew white and drawn, her 
lips more tightly closed, her hands were cold and her 
heart seemed frozen, but she had decided upon her 
course, and her resolute bearing proved to those who 
knew her best, that she would not falter. 


THE JUDGMENT 


19 


CHAPTER II 


‘Tor God’s sake, Mrs. Howard, stop a moment and 
think of the horror of this thing! You are condemn- 
ing Eleanor to a life of misery. I tell you Manning is 
ruined; his evil habits have poisoned him until his 
manhood is gone. He has been under my care for 
years, and I know he is ruined. In her dead father’s 
name, I beg, I implore you, do not force this marriage.” 

“Really, Dr. Bryan, I think you excite yourself more 
than is necessary about this affair of Eleanor’s and 
mine. I am quite sure that you overstate the case. 
It is most unfortunate that you do not approve Elea- 
nor’s choice, but as I, her mother, do most heartily 
approve it, I fear that you will have to content your- 
self as best you can,” and as she finished, Mrs. Howard 
sank against her cushions, face and manner showing 
displeasure at his words. This was more than the old 
man could bear, and his rage burst forth : “Then, at 
least I’ll have the pleasure of telling you once for all 
what I think of you. Madam. You ruined Howard’s 
life with your petty selfishness, and eternal complaints, 
and now you would drive Eleanor into a life that is 
worse than death, and you are doing it to pamper your 
own selfish little soul. It is as bad as a life of open 
shame, to drive her into marriage with such a dog as 
Manning.” 


20 


THE JUDGMENT 


'‘Silence!’’ she commanded, rising in fury; but he 
went on: "Yes it is you who are doing this; doing it 
that by the sale of your child, you may reap your own 
harvest. It’s a damned shame that such a little soul 
as yours should be able to bring misery to a noble 
one like hers.” 

The wedding took place on January tenth. While 
Eleanor received the wishes for her happiness from 
friends, now eager to express them, with an unbroken 
calm, her mother was reanimate with joy, and responded 
to every congratulatory wish as if she were the bride, 
unable to hide her rapture. When they had reached the 
sumptuous car, Eleanor entered like an automaton, 
with scarcely a glance to the volatile French maid 
bowing a welcome. Soon the train plowed on through 
banks of snow and ice, a mighty monster bidding de- 
fiance to the cruel forces of the biting cold. 

The discreet servants withdrawn, Eleanor and Man- 
ning were left alone. He was full of eagerness to 
touch the freshness of the young girl’s heart, cap- 
tured, but not yet won. As he watched the slender 
form and impassive face before him, he murmured 
beneath his breath: "My wife — not yet.” 

He took in anew the beauty of her youthfulness, 
while in his selfish heart a kind resolve struggled 
for life. "As mine, she shall have everything the 
heart of woman can desire.” She met each attention 
with unmelting coldness ; not once did her face 
brighten; the large, brown eyes held no sign of in- 
terest, but her gaze rested on the dreary outside 
landscape. 

The hours passed as if unnoticed by her, but the 
time seemed interminable to him, rebelling at her 


THE JUDGMENT 


21 


coldness, and he again broke the intolerable silence, 
“Say something, Eleanor.” 

For a moment she did not answer, and then she did 
not turn her head, and her voice was low and tense, 
“There is nothing to say.” 

“Oh, yes there is,” he responded, thankful that the 
spell of long silence was finally broken: “you might 
say that everything outside looks cold, or that the 
wind is blowing, or you might tell me that you love 
me, as a dear little wife should do.” As he spoke, he 
came nearer to her; his black eyes sparkled, and the 
blood mounted to his sallow cheeks. Ominous sign; 
and as Eleanor saw it, her outraged heart stirred with 
resentment, while a waking recognition of its mean- 
ing choked her with dread. Fighting hard to con- 
ceal her fear, she answered : “That would not be true.” 

He scanned her face intently, thinking how he 
should proceed, and his thin lips curled, as he 
promised himself: “I will conquer her, then we shall 
see. 

With a stern restraint, he decided to make another 
effort; this time along impersonal lines: “Beastly 
winter,” he remarked, “but we will meet an early 
June in Florida. Ever in Florida before?” 

“No.” 

“Lovely climate and fine hotels ; bathing, fishing, 
dancing; everything. Do you like dancing?” 

“Not now.” 

“You will be charmed with Florida. I hope you 
brought plenty of pretty clothes. I want my wife 
to be always well-dressed.” 

He waited for the reply which did not come, and 
then persisted : “Did you buy many pretty things, 
Eleanor? Your mother promised me to see to that.” 


22 


THE JUDGMENT 


Had he known her better he might have seen a 
danger signal flash over her face, but to him it was 
only a blush which pleased him. 

“Did you, Eleanor?’' he asked again. 

With a look of supreme scorn, she answered in her 
coldest tone : “I do not know, I did not examine 
them.” 

All his efforts to talk to her ending in failure, he 
fell to watching her as she sat apparently unmoved, 
her face turned toward the window, as if she might 
be unconscious of his presence. He bit his lip in rage. 
“When my time comes, Fll make her pay for this,” 
he snarled beneath his breath. 

The dreary day tired itself out, and withdrew be- 
hind the darkening shadows of evening; night came 
down, and began to cover the wintry landscape with 
her sable cloak. 

Eleanor still sat in the drawing room, gazing out 
into the night, when Cleo, the French maid, came in, 
bearing a tray with a dainty service. 

“I think Madame might like a leetle tea, for you have 
not touch one bite since we have made the start,” 
she explained, settling the service and drawing the 
blinds. “M’sieur Avill join you, if him you want,” she 
added, according to Manning’s instructions, but as 
Eleanor gave no answer, he entered uninvited. 

Eleanor could not drink her tea, and the hand that 
poured it trembled ; but Manning’s appetite was un- 
impaired. Her preoccupation did not prevent his en- 
joyment of the meal. He seldom attempted conversa- 
tion at the table, for eating was there with him the 
principal business. No one could fail to see the relish 
with which he disposed of everything before him, and 
Eleanor thought with disgust: “How can so small 


THE JUDGMENT 


23 


a man devour so large a quantity of food?*’ He 
glanced at her, and perhaps her face held some hint of 
her thoughts, for with a sinister smile he remarked: 
“My love for you is very great, but as you do not 
make sufficient return to sustain me, I must resort 
to more material aid.” Eleanor turned away without 
reply, and he promised himself requital : “when my 
time comes.” 

An hour later Cleo entered, and standing by Elea- 
nor’s side with her demure air, said in her soft and 
broken drawl : “Ze state room ees raidy, Madame, vill 
you not come?” 

“No — you may go, I shall not need you.” 

“But Madame ees in need of ze rest,” she urged. 

“I prefer to remain here.” 

“I can do nothing, M’sieur,” Cleo complained to 
Manning, waiting for the outcome of the interview. 

“I will see her:” and in a brave assumption of 
authority, he opened the drawing-room door. The 
silent figure seemed scarcely to have moved since 
first they started, and she showed no sign of having 
noted his entrance. 

“My dear, this will not do ; you must have rest ; you 
must go to sleep.” 

“I cannot sleep.” 

“You cannot unless you try. Come, be reasonable; 
let Cleo make you comfortable for the night.” 

Eleanor lifted her eyes to him, and a better man 
would have detected the appeal lying in their depths. 
“Let me stay here.” Manning’s irritation was not 
well controlled. “Confound such obstinacy,” he mut- 
tered, going back to his stateroom next to hers. 

During the passing hours the roar of the train was 
the only sound which broke into the stillness of the 


24 


THE JUDGMENT 


night. It was past three o’clock when Cleo came for 
the third time to beg her mistress to take some rest, 
but as she reached the door she halted, for Eleanor 
was standing in the center of the little room, her face 
drawn with agony. All day roses had filled the warm 
air of the apartment with a sweetness she had loathed. 
Oppressed now past endurance, she opened the win- 
dow, and as if spurning from her some hateful thing, 
she filled her arms with the flowers and threw them 
out, then bent her head to the window for the touch 
of the cold night air to revive her. When Cleo en- 
tered, Eleanor’s worn-out body added its craving for 
rest to the pleading of the insistent maid, and she 
arose to follow her. Not until then did she realize 
the strain under which she had passed the day. Her 
feet gave way, as she tried to walk; she swayed and 
fell against the wall. Seeing Eleanor’s pallid face 
and swaying form, Cleo uttered a piercing scream. 
''Madame ees fainting!” she cried, in frightened tones, 
when Manning hurried towards them. 

"No, I am not fainting; I am perfectly well; I only 
stumbled from the motion of the train,” Eleanor in- 
sisted, angry both with herself and the maid for hav- 
ing caused the excitement. 

"No wonder you are faint, you eat nothing, and sit 
up all night,” Manning cried in a tone of impatience. 

Eleanor made no reply, but entered her stateroom 
and surrendered herself to the practiced hands of the 
maid. 

She was soon again alone in the quiet and darkness 
of the winter night ; alone, but with such thoughts for 
companions as brought the hot rebellious tears to 
the aching eyes. Who heard the quivering sobs that 
shook the slender form, or understood the baptism of 


I 


THE JUDGMENT 25 

agony through which she groped a blinded way, 
where blighted hopes and girlhood dreams lay dead 
around her, as she passed to take up this new life. 

It was long in passing; this storm of anguish; and 
only when the gray dawn began to blush at the ardor 
of the morning kiss of the rising sun, rest came to her 
saddened heart. Sleep was so heavy that she lay 
unconscious of Cleons entrance with the morning cup 
of chocolate. The maid, alarmed at her appearance, 
hastily summoned Manning. A slight hesitation 
showed in his assured face as he entered the room and 
stood gazing at the girlish form sunk in sleep. 
His heart leaped with desire as he leaned above her. 
The crimson lips were half way parted like a child’s 
in sleep; her face rested on one hand; one long, soft 
braid of hair lay across her shoulder, while one was 
crushed beneath her. The full sleeves of the soft, 
white gown fell back and showed her rounded arms. 
One hand lay on her breast, its fingers enmeshed in 
the soft laces of her low-necked gown, as if even in 
sleep she would 'guard the entrance to her heart. The 
rounded breasts rose and fell beneath the filmy lace, ^ 
through which the soft, white flesh was dimly seen. 
The man stood still and gazed, his eyes ravished by 
the wondrous beauty of the woman. ‘‘God, she’s 
mine!” he whispered, and then as if she heard, a 
quivering sigh issued from her lips, and Eleanor 
stirred. 

Manning withdrew in haste, giving orders that she 
should not be disturbed until she wakened of her own 
accord, and while she slept he sat near her door, 
watching and waiting for the first sign of her awakening. 

The morning hours passed very slowly to him as he 
waited there, his soul afire with fierce longings for 


26 


THE JUDGMENT 


the delicate, fresh beauty of the woman so lately but 
a child ; and with an impure love he craved the moment 
when he would subdue the proud young spirit, and 
subjugate the sweet young heart. 

When Eleanor awoke, in her youthful strength, re- 
freshed by sleep, life seemed to show a countenance 
less forbidding. Blessing of youth ; to sleep and wake 
refreshed and strengthened. 

Even the cold winds of the North had during the 
night's travel become tempered by the milder climate 
of the upper South; and looking from her window 
she saw the river rippling by, unchecked by icy barri- 
ers and felt hope stir and arise within her heart. ‘'Let 
me learn to make the best of it/' she whispered to 
the girl looking at her from the gilt framed mirror. 

Cleo's dextrous hands found it easy to destroy the 
ravages left on her mistress's face by the stress of the 
night before, and when Eleanor entered the drawing 
room, Manning rose with quick, involuntary homage to 
her beauty. The heavier dress of yesterday had been re- 
placed by a gown of dull blue silk ; the yoke, which came 
far down the shoulders, was of creamy satin wrought 
heavily with golden threads ; the girdle' round the slender 
waist held the same embroidery; the skirt hung straight 
and full, and fell in graceful folds round her highly 
arched feet. The dress was simple, but the queer dull 
color brought out the bronze shades of her hair and en- 
hanced the clear white skin and tinted cheeks. Her 
glorious brown eyes and scarlet lips added the com- 
pleting touch to a picture so exquisite as to have stirred 
to ardor any heart. Yesterday's look of cold restraint 
had become tempered by the softened expression of hope- 
fulness; that same which stirs and thrills us all alike 
till hope itself is dead. 


THE JUDGMENT 


27 


'T overslept/’ she said, looking toward him as she 
passed into the sumptuous little apartment. 

^T trust it rested you,” he answered, and extended a 
chair towards her. ''You are just in time for lunch.” 

She accepted with half a smile the commonplace re- 
mark, and the meal proceeded cheerfully enough, for 
Manning had determined to redeem his mistakes of yes- 
terday and exerted himself to be agreeable. 

As they traveled. Manning pointed out to her the points 
of interest along the way. There a turbulent stream, 
whose bank marked the scene of a hard-fought battle 
of the Civil War; not far away stood an old fort, where 
an army of gallant Northern soldiers found themselves 
repulsed by the dauntless bravery of their Southern 
brothers. Since early youth love for the sunny land of 
her father’s birth and boyhood had filled Eleanor’s heart, 
and these scenes of the long-drawn, hopeless struggle 
against superior might filled her with vivid interest. "If 
Dad could be with me,” was her involuntary thought; 
the loving memory of him banished for the time the dis- 
tastefulness of the present, and made her glow with 
interest. 

To Manning’s eyes the girl was irresistibly lovely in 
her fresh enthusiasm, and he found a pleasure new and 
strange to him in adding to it, in pointing out to her the 
historic scenes which stand as milestones marking our 
country’s onward march. And onward through the 
Southern States the train made its rapid way, ’till they 
found fhemselves on the borders of that land of per- 
petual sunshine — Florida. 

Eleanor stood with Manning upon the platform of 
the car, while the train sped along through the tangled 
riot of beauty on each side of the track. 

When the train reached Palm Beach, night had fallen, 


28 


THE JUDGMENT 


and they could hear the washing of the mighty waves 
rolling over the sands of the level beach beneath their 
windows. 

Manning had engaged the most sumptuous suite of 
rooms in the great hotel, itself a work of art; man's 
artistic handiwork framed in that of nature. 

Surrounded by luxury, lulled to sleep by the music of 
the waves, Eleanor lay wrapped in child-like slumber 'till 
morning came, and with it, Cleo. ‘‘Madame vill mees 
ze sight of ze bathers eff she does not rise." 

Through the open window the soft wind came with 
gentle greeting from the ocean's breast, and Eleanor 
caught her breath in wonder at the beauty of the view. 

The bathers raced down the sands to spring like sea 
birds into the rippling waves ; sporting in the water as if 
it were their native element, while on the sands onlookers 
loitered, bathed in the morning sunshine. 

“M'sieur demands to know if Madame would like a 
stroll on the beach before breikfus," came Cleo's voice 
as Eleanor stood at the window. 

“Yes, it is too lovely to stay indoors," she answered, 
impatient for the warm glory of the sun. In the sitting 
room she joined him. His face was eager, too, but not 
with thoughts of the outside scene. 

As Eleanor advanced, dressed in a modish white linen 
suit, heavy with embroidery, a large white hat shading 
her face, wherein her soft brown eyes glowed with ex- 
pectancy which even dislike for him could not entirely 
hide. Manning thought as he greeted her: “Each time I 
see you, you are more beautiful." 

The blue water and the bluer sky, each with its touch 
of white in cloud and foam, delighted her throughout the 
brief stroll. Enjoyment of the simple things of Nature 
enhanced her beauty and drew in her direction more than 


THE JUDGMENT 


29 


one pair of interested eyes. Eleanor did not see this, 
but Manning knew and realized no pleasure from the 
fact. 

‘T see a number of people are already here,’’ he re- 
marked strolling back toward the entrance; ‘T met the 
Gordon-Leighs last night. They asked for you, but I 
told them you were too tired to come down to the dance. 
No doubt we will meet them to-day. I want you to be 
the loveliest woman at the dance to-night.” His eyes 
followed her close, and she found it hard to evade them. 
In his look and manner lay suggestion of a hungry ani- 
mal. He had no appreciation to-day for either clouds, 
sky or sea ; his mind was fixed on Eleanor and incidentally 
upon the other men who watched her. 

At breakfast numerous greetings awaited them from 
acquaintances arrived before them, and like all youth, 
Eleanor responded to the genial spirit pervading the 
place, and as a flower opens its heart, responsive to the 
warm caresses of the sun, her face caught and reflected 
the light of the lovely morning, and for a little while 
hid from her the fact that behind Manning’s light and 
pleasant talk lay the deeper note of passion and suspici- 
ous jealousy gleaming in his ferret-like eyes at the ad- 
miring glances cast her way. 

In her room she found flowers such as it seemed im- 
possible to imagine growing anywhere in January; great, 
glorious roses, in their fragrance so unlike their frailer 
sisters grown within the Northern hot houses. 

She caught her breath in sheer delight, her face aglow 
with wonder. ‘‘Ah! the beauty of such a land,” she 
cried, her arms filled with roses, her eyes filled with joy 
in the beauty thus outspread. “How could one get enough 
of Florida?” 

Manning’s restraint began to gall him. This woman 


30 


THE JUDGMENT 


was his wife; must he stand back with ceremonious po- 
liteness, waiting for her to invite further demonstrations 
of love? “The roses please you?” 

“Yes, everything here pleases me,” she answered with 
the unconsciousness of a child. 

Something choked him ; he swallowed hard. “And you 
please me,” and coming close he caught her hand, lifted 
and pressed upon it his hot kisses. Withdrawing from him 
with nervous haste, she declared : “You crush my roses,” 
and gathered them again into her arms, retiring further 
into the embrasure of the window. Manning’s face grew 
dark as he watched her retreating form, and the look in 
his eyes was not a nice one. “My time is coming soon,” 
he whispered to himself, and moistened his hot, dry lips. 

Eleanor spent the greater part of the remaining day 
trying to avoid any further conversation with him. Meet- 
ing people from their circle of acquaintances in New 
York made it easier for her to pass the time away, and 
she thought he did not understand her ruse. 

The gay crowds were gathering in the brilliant ball 
room. Eleanor stood before the long mirror in the dress- 
ing room, while Cleo put the last deft touches to her toil- 
ette. Her evening gown exposed the soft beauty of her 
neck and shoulders. Her lovely arms were bare. The 
creamy whiteness of her skin was not more charming 
than the rounded contour of the arms ; soft and white and 
dimpled, they needed nothing to enhance their beauty. 

As Cleo was fastening a straying curl which, refusing 
to remain in the unaccustomed staidness, fell down and 
clung like baby fingers close round the small pink ear, 
Eleanor heard a slight noise behind her, and turning faced 
her husband. 

His dapper little form was clad in immaculate evening 
dress, from the stiff white collar and precise tie to the 


THE JUDGMENT 


31 


tips of his glistening shoes. His dark hair was plastered 
close to his small head. His white shirt threw into bold 
relief the sallow tints of his face, in which now burned 
ominous dark red stains. 

Eleanor’s wide eyes demanded of him explanation of 
this unannounced appearance in her room. He laughed 
with nervousness, but determined to treat his presence as 
only a matter of course, he came forward, saying: 'Tt is 
time' we went down, so I came to see if you were nearly 
ready.” 

'T would have sent Cleo to you soon,” she answered. 

''But my coming has saved you that trouble, my wife,” 
he broke in smilingly. 

The words and the look accompanying them sent a 
thrill of something hitherto unknown or only guessed at 
throughout her being. 

Manning, watching her narrowly, saw her tremble, 
and at the sight he smiled, then spoke again. "You must 
have thought it strange that I gave you only your diamond 
pin upon our wedding day. I have something here to 
accompany it, but have kept it ’till now to surprise you. 
Let us see if it suits the pin,” and he held out a square 
silver box beautifully engraved, to the handle of which 
hung a key. 

"The pin?” 

Something showed in Eleanor’s face which made him 
ask, "Where is your pin?” 

*T don’t know,” she answered, confused. 

"Don’t know?” he repeated her words in a tone of 
inquiry. "Surely you have some knowledge of the where- 
abouts of your wedding gifts.” 

"I forgot it,” she explained, as yet too unversed in 
duplicity to recognize the usefulness of a discreet pre- 
varication. 


32 


THE JUDGMENT 


Cleo came forward smiling. '‘Madame forgets her 
jewels, but I naifer do forget,” her eyes upraised, ap- 
pealing for commendation from the excited man. 

"Nice girl,” he said under his breath. 

"I haif ze brooch,” she said, her smiling face uplifted, 
indicating by the upward shrug of her shoulders that be- 
tween herself and Manning lay a mutual understanding 
of Eleanor’s peculiar defections. 

Manning gave her a glance apparently satisfactory, 
for it brought a pleased smile to her flushed face as she 
hastily produced the missing brooch. 

Though Eleanor witnessed the by-play between her 
husband and her maid, she did not yet know either of 
them so well as to catch its full significance. 

"I am sorry I forgot the brooch,” she apologized. 

"I hope you may attach more importance to these,” he 
dryly answered, and placed the box upon the table, in- 
serted the key, threw back the top displaying upon the 
white velvet trays such exquisite diamonds as few women 
have seen ; fewer still possessed. 

"Oh ! how beautiful !” from the enraptured maid. "Ma- 
dame will be like ze angels of God.” 

Manning lifted the sparkling jewels, and with a punctil- 
ious : "Allow me,” fastened the bracelets round Eleanor’s 
tapering arms, then around her soft white neck, the glit- 
tering jeweled chain. Could the touch of the gold have 
made her start as if with sudden pain, or was it the con- 
tact of the fingers that clasped it which filled her soul with 
terror ? 


THE JUDGMENT 


33 


CHAPTER III 


Eleanor had been away four weeks, but even in that 
short time the improvement in her mother’s appearance 
and health had been marvelously rapid. Happiness is 
truly a great restorer. 

When Manning bade her farewell, he slipped a gener- 
ous bank note into her hand. ‘^Stint her in nothing,” he 
had said, and Mrs. Howard took him at his word. The 
gowns she ordered for the homecoming of the bride were 
fit for the wardrobe of a queen. '‘She must have them 
to be able to hold his love,” she argued. 

The adroit French costumers understood their patron, 
and amid the delicate blues, pinks and greens, they dis- 
played gorgeous brocades of more subdued colorings. 
"These are too old for her,” she answered, while her 
hands strayed with caressing touch down the soft length 
of a pale mauve brocade. 

"Ah ! but it ees made but for Madame’s self. Peecture 
yourself in this, touched up with silver. Ah! but you 
will be like a girl again. You must not tink alone of 
ze chile, forgetting always ze sweet beauty of ze mother, 
Yais, dese soaf clinging robes for her, but ze loafly bro- 
cades for you,” and Madame proved herself an irre- 
sistible temptress. Invitations and cards poured in and 
the air was replete with happy congratulations. 


/ 


34 


THE JUDGMENT 


At Manning’s home another view of life was being 
taken. His sisters, Maud and Eva, aged thirty-six and 
thirty-two, respectively, had until now been joint mis- 
tresses of his home, and the knowledge of the coming of 
another to take their place was very galling. 

Mrs. Judith Norton, their aunt, for her own reasons 
augmented these feelings of resentment, and it was easily 
seen that Eleanor would get no help or sympathy from 
any of them. 

Mrs. Norton’s rustling gown and costly furs could not 
mitigate the harshness of a countenance like hers. Her 
dark, sallow skin was overspread with wrinkles; the 
Manning eyes in their black beadiness were set close to- 
gether under her narrow forehead; her prominent nose 
shadowed a mouth with cruel lips. She was tall, and 
her slight figure showed acute angles despite the care of 
a painstaking dressmaker. 

Maude was almost as tall as Mrs. Norton, but less 
angular; her dark eyes were like her aunt’s, and her 
mouth was quite as cruel. It shut tight and close as if 
imprisoning forever the chance expression of a kindly 
thought. 

Eva was smaller than her sister, and her small light 
blue eyes lent little charm. Her pale brown hair had now 
lost its youthful yellow tint in a long since hopeless drab. 
The Manning mouth was with her, modified by weakness. 
Her nose was her trouble ; it was large, long, hooked and 
red, and forced her to spend the greater part of her win- 
ters indoors. It had always been her despair, and despite 
her careful powderings and painstaking care, remained a 
torment to its possessor. 

^They say Mrs. Howard had made some very poor 
investments, and without this marriage to William they 
would now have almost nothing,” Eva said. "‘Knowing 


THE JUDGMENT 


35 


William as I do/’ Maude answered, ‘T think she made 
a bad investment when she chose him as a husband for 
her daughter.” 

'T hope you will not express yourself so freely when 
he returns, or we will find ourselves reduced to our al- 
lowance named in papa’s ridiculous will,” advised careful 
Eva. 

'T hear that he will be back within a week,” Mrs. Nor- 
ton remarked. 

“Yes, a short note came this morning,” answered 
Maude. “He is having her rooms furnished gorgeously, 
and at great expense. I want you to see them.” Eva 
joined in. “He has already spent more on her than on 
us in all our lives.” 

“Yes, but that, you must remember, is a trait of the 
Manning men. They are always ready to lavish their 
wealth on their wives, while they are young and fresh. 
I had the same experience with your father that you 
are now having with William, and as you know, he gave 
me almost nothing. Women, in the Manning family, 
have always been held of small account as compared 
to the sons and brothers through whom is perpetuated 
the Manning name and money. I know the bitterness 
of being put aside for others. If I had not married your 
Uncle Norton it would have been a hard struggle for me 
to have maintained my position in society. I hope to see 
you both well settled in life, but I dread the effect of this 
unfortunate marriage of William’s upon 3^our prospects,” 
and Mrs. Norton folded her hands, waiting for the effect 
of her words. 

She had never forgiven her brother for having in- 
herited most of their father’s wealth ; her resentment had 
extended to her nephew, and she was determined to en- 
courage in his sisters the feeling of ill will implanted by 


36 


THE JUDGMENT 


his marriage, until under her nurturing care it should 
yield a harvest of revenge. Far down, too, in the re- 
cesses of her memory lay the recollection of the time 
when Joseph Howard, young, handsome and rich, came 
to New York. With all the coquettish arts of the fully 
developed spinster, she had assailed his heart, only to be 
met by the crushing announcement of his engagement to 
the young and lovely Miss Williamson, afterward 
Eleanor’s mother. She had unceasingly postered since 
then an increasing store of vengeful thoughts. 

Maude’s black eyes snapped resentfully, and her mouth 
extended itself into a thin straight line, dividing her face. 

In Eva, resentment seemed less fierce, more spiteful. 
Her red nose grew redder, and her pale eyes swam in 
tears. 

‘‘But, my dears,” Mrs. Norton continued, “we must 
remember, even in the midst of our disappointments, to 
confine ourselves to conventional acts, and you should, 
if you have not already done so, for the sake of appear- 
ances, call upon Mrs. Howard.” 

“We'^did, and found her out. We were afraid he would 
be angry if we did not go.” 

“Since he had to marry, it’s some little comfort that 
he chose a woman from our own set. He might have 
married some dreadful person. They often do, when they 
get this marrying craze. I intend to call on Mrs. Howard 
on my way home this afternoon. Tell me something 
about the girl. I hear that she is beautiful.” 

Maude answered quickly, “I am sure I cannot see any 
signs of beauty in her. The day she was married she 
looked more like a piece of mechanism than a living 
woman. Her face was as white as paper, and she was 
as stiff as if she had been frozen. She seems as cold as 
ice. I don’t believe she has a heart.” 


THE JUDGMENT 


37 


'"So she is not handsome? I think I remember her as 
a very pretty child/’ 

‘‘Some people might think so; for my part I prefer 
some animation.” 

At Manning’s club his surprising marriage still made 
gossip. A crowd of men loitered round the tables. “I 
hear that Manning and his young wife are expected back 
in a few days,” said one. 

“That so ? They say she is a beauty and very young. 
Ever see her?” 

“No, not since her father died. She is young, though. 
Too young, I guess, to know Manning. Wonder how 
Mademoiselle Follette takes it.” 

“I don’t know, but I guess it cost Manning something 
to quiet her.” 

“And Mrs. Van Buskirk! What about her?” At the 
laugh following this question an old man put down his 
paper, revealing himself as Dr. Bryan, and peered over 
his glasses. 

“Who made the match?” asked the first speaker. 

“Her mother, I guess. Howard’s money left the coun- 
try with Johnson Evans.” 

“Yes, I’ve heard something of that; and so they went 
after Manning’s. That it, eh?” 

“Guess so,” laughed the other man. “Girls, nowadays, 
are pretty wise, and no doubt this young beauty was as 
willing as she needs to be.” 

Dr. Bryan jumped up, his face purple. “You damned 
little whipper-snapper,” he bellowed, “who are you to be 
meddling in people’s affairs? What do you know 
about Joe Howard’s daughter? I’ll crush the life out 
of you, if you open your mouth again. If it were not 
beneath the dignity of a man to notice you, I would 
throw you out of the window. Don’t let me ever hear 


38 


THE JUDGMENT 


you mention the name of Joe Howard's daughter 
again. It is a shame that such creatures as you should 
live/' and Dr. Bryan shook his crumpled paper in the 
face of the astonished young dandy, rapidly retreating 
from this unexpected onslaught. 

Still muttering, when he had donned his overcoat, 
the old man pulled his hat over his eyes, and left the 
club room in disgust and sorrow. 

When Manning and Eleanor arrived, New York was 
in the throes of a mighty snow-storm. Eleanor stepped 
into the carriage, shivering as the cold night wind 
struck her face. 

Manning was in no pleasant mood; cold irritated 
him. He gave his orders in harsh tones, and enveloped 
in his huge fur coat, crouched in a corner of the car- 
riage, blue and trembling. 

The driver lashed his horses to their fastest gait 
over the slippery pavement, and as she watched the 
flickering lights through the falling snow, Eleanor felt 
life's burden fall upon her, harder and heavier than 
before. 

As they approached, the house was well lighted and 
the door held open by an obsequious footman. Man- 
ning's sisters were waiting in the long drawing room, 
where were bright lights and a fireplace filled with 
leaping flames. 

‘‘Well, girls, here we are," Manning began. 

“Nearly frozen to death, too, I am sure, poor man," 
from Maude, eager to touch aright her brother's selfish 
heart. 

Manning advanced towards the fire, and his sisters 
busied themselves about him. He was too cold to think 
of the reception they were giving to his bride, as she 
stood waiting, white and cold, until turning he saw 


THE JUDGMENT 


39 


her, and said : ‘"Come to the fire, Eleanor. Girls, here 
is your new sister. I was so cold I forgot everything.” 

They touched Eleanor’s cold face with their thin, 
tightly-drawn lips, and in carefully phrased greeting, 
declared their delight at her coming. But Eleanor’s 
face did not relax, and at the first opportunity she 
arose, saying: “I am so tired that I would like to go 
to my rooms.” 

“No doubt you are tired,” Maude responded, rising to 
show the way, and as they went upstairs she said per- 
functorily : 

“You find New York very different from Florida, no 
doubt.” 

“Yes, New York seems very cold.” 

“Your mother’s rooms are ready, but she preferred 
to wait for your arrival, before she came,” Maude went 
on. “How do you like this?” Eleanor glanced around 
the beautiful apartments. “William wrote that you 
liked your dressing room in Florida, and so he had it 
copied for you here. I am sure there are not more 
lovely rooms in all New York.” 

“They are certainly very beautiful,” Eleanor an- 
swered, but there was little animation in her voice. 

“Well, I must not keep you up when you are so 
tired. I will go, and you can tell us of Florida in the 
morning,” as Maude left her with a hypocritical pre- 
tense of kindliness. 

The next day when Eleanor entered the breakfast 
room she found Manning and his sisters waiting for 
her. His dark face wore an unusually peevish expres- 
sion. “I must request you to be prompt in coming to 
meals, Eleanor,” he said ; “nothing is more distasteful 
to me than having to wait.” The rebuke acted as a 
stimulus to Eleanor’s jaded spirits, but it gave her no 


40 THE JUDGMENT 

more love for Manning nor for his sisters who heard 
her receive it. 

Maude’s black eyes flashed to Eva’s pale ones, a look 
of pleased intelligence. ‘‘Had you informed me as to 
the breakfast hour,” Eleanor answered, ‘T should not 
have kept you waiting.” 

Surprised at the new note in her voice, Manning 
looked at her. Stirred by her beauty, a momentary 
kindliness flashed through his ill humor, and lent him 
the grace to say : “Then it is our fault ; please forgive 
the oversight.” 

Eva turned to Eleanor. “There are countless cards 
and invitations waiting for you. Your hands will be 
full when you begin to sift them out.” 

“I will help you, my dear, when you are ready for 
that,” Manning joined in. “There are some places to 
which I do not wish you to go, and there are some peo- 
ple whose acquaintance I wish you to cultivate.” 
Though Eleanor made slight answer to her husband’s 
remarks, the expression on her face led him to wonder 
if the crushed young girl might yet develop into a 
woman hard to manage. 

After breakfast, at his request, Eleanor joined Man- 
ning. 

“I want to discuss with you the final arrange- 
ments for your mother’s coming,” he said. “Doubtless 
you are anxious to be together, and it is with this view 
that I have selected rooms for her near your own. 
Would you like to see them?” 

In the rooms set apart for Mrs. Howard’s use Man- 
ning had manifested his willingness to repay her for 
her co-operation in his suit. 

It was a place expressive of comfort and luxurious 
ease, and as Eleanor’s eyes rested on its beauty she 


THE JUDGMENT 41 

told herself : ‘‘This will satisfy mother that she made a 
good bargain/’ 

As she did not speak, Manning asked : “Do you think 
this will please her? She said she wanted it done in 
lilac.” 

“I think it will,” she answered slowly, wondering 
bitterly how many details of the bargain had been set- 
tled without her knowledge. 

When Mrs. Howard arrived and with outstretched 
arms rushed to her crying, “My darling child,” Eleanor 
was impressed by the change in her mother’s appear- 
ance. She was bright and cheerful. Her figure had 
regained much of its youthful grace and symmetry, 
and the color glowed in her cheeks almost as if placed 
there by the expert hands of nature. 

Eleanor instinctively turned away, and a spasm of 
pain crossed her face, thinking of the years to which 
all these things condemned her. 

Mrs. Howard could see the change wrought in her 
daughter’s face by the past few weeks, but it was not 
in her nature to sympathize with Eleanor’s “heroics.” 
She entered into the enjoyment of her softly feathered 
nest, unmindful of all but it, while into Eleanor’s heart 
grew the realization that she was as nothing contrasted 
to her mother’s greed for luxury. 

The following morning Eleanor in her private sit- 
ting room, was engaged in writing letters. Manning 
had carefully assorted the accumulated invitations, ar- 
ranging them into two lots. The pile of invitations to 
be declined was answered, and she had begun on those to 
which answers of acceptance must be sent. 

Her mother entered and began to talk. “I am glad 
that Dr. Bryan has not had the impertinence to call 


42 


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on us after the way in which he talked to me, when 
you were married/’ 

Eleanor raised her head and said: ‘‘Talked to you, 
mother; when and what did he say?” Then followed 
an account, colored to Mrs. Howard’s fancy, of the 
conversation with the Doctor. “Promise me, Eleanor, 
that if he calls you will refuse to see him.” 

Eleanor looked at her for a moment, and at last 
asked coldly: “Do you mean to ask me to refuse to 
see father’s best friend, and my only one? I shall cer- 
tainly not do so. If I did not have him to care for me, 
I should be more friendless than I am. Ask something 
else, mother.” 


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43 


CHAPTER IV 


The Lenten season, with its assumption of demure- 
ness, descended upon society, and afforded a rest to the 
jaded devotees of fashion. There were fewer entertain- 
ments, but the “smaller’’ evenings brought to the friv- 
olous that distraction without which life to them would 
lose its interest. 

In her anxiety that Eleanor should prove a success in 
society, Mrs. Howard noticed with increasing alarm 
her daughter’s unconcealed disgust at the flagrant 
flirtations of many of the women whom she met. 

“You must not show your feelings so plainly, El- 
eanor,” her mother said, disapproving her bare civility 
of the day before, when Mrs. Van Buskirk had called 
at the Manning home. 

“Do you mean that I should pretend to be glad to 
see her? No woman could behave more shamelessly 
than she.” 

“You can’t help what she does, and if you continue 
to snub her, as you have been doing, people will say 
that you are jealous of her. Indeed, they are saying so 
now.” 

“I, jealous of a woman like that? How can any one 
imagine it?” Eleanor spoke coldly. 

“Why, William, of course.” 

“And what of him?” 


44 


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''Well, if you must know, everyone says he was on very 
friendly relations with her last winter. Everybody knows 
it, and talks about it, and if you don’t receive her pleas- 
antly, they will say you are jealous. You must exert 
yourself to hold William’s love; use all your attract- 
iveness and your beauty, and meet him with smiles. He 
will begin to see that other men may admire you. This 
will make him love you more, and he may let that woman 
go; but unless something new comes out, you will have 
to treat her more cordially.” 

"Mother ! Mother ! how can you talk so ? Are wealth 
and social position the only things worth living for? 
I cannot endure the woman, or the kind of society in 
which she moves, and you tell me that I must associate 
with her for the sake of society. I thought I had made 

sufficient sacrifice when I married to please you ” 

but here her mother interruped. "Such tirades are in 
very bad taste, Eleanor, you must learn to overlook 
many things tolerated by older and wiser ones than you, 
or you will certainly lose the place William has given 
you.” 

Manning had planned to make their first formal enter- 
tainment a large ball during Easter week. The weather 
was particularly fine. 

Eleanor was dressed in soft clinging satin of a creamy 
tint, enhancing her calm stateliness, as she stood at her 
husband’s side to receive their guests. 

"Heavens ! Look at her !” Maude gasped, in unexpected 
outburst at Eleanor’s beauty.” 

"Look, Maude, look ! When he buys pearls like those, 
it means that we will not get much.” And Eva clutched 
Maude’s large bare arm with energy. 

"Don’t pinch my arm off about it,” snapped Maude. 

As the guests arrived, Eleanor greeted them with com- 


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45 


posed cordiality; that cordiality which we assume when 
we wish to blind the world to the cold indifference be- 
neath. Only once throughout the evening did her face 
brighten into anything like warmth; when Dr. Bryan 
bowed with old-time courtliness above her outstretched 
hand. 

When Mrs. Norton came, her face showed that she 
had lost none of the acidity of her temperament. She 
bestowed upon Eleanor a searching scrutiny, then lifted 
her voice to a tone distinctly audible throughout the 
crowded room: ‘‘Ah, my dear, how are you? Quite like 
a South Sea Island princess, I see. How are you, 
William? Feeling better than you look, I hope.*' 
And passing on to Mrs. Howard, who stood a few steps 
beyond her daughter, she grasped her hand, and holding 
it fast, to prevent an escape before the conclusion of her 
remarks, said, while everyone listened: “Good evening, 
Mrs. Howard, I hardly knew you, you are looking so 
remarkably improved. You have undoubtedly secured a 
new maid lately. What a genius she is, to be sure.” 
Perfectly aware of the close attention of the amused 
onlookers, the old woman went on — “You must tell us 
how you were able to secure this treasure. Ah, no? then 
it leaves us with only our imagination to enlighten us,” 
and she passed on delighted at the storm of rage she 
left in Mrs. Howard's face. 

Maude and Eva saw her coming. They had heard her 
remarks, and were eager to propitiate her at least into 
leniency towards themselves. As she looked around at the 
profuse floral decorations, she snorted with rage, and 
turned to Maude, saying: “Perfectly disgusting, such 
display ! I never saw anything like it. Simply ridiculous !” 
Then looking at Eva, and pretending to lower her voice as 
if it were intended for Eva's ears alone, she said : “Poor 


46 


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child ! Do powder your nose. It is a perfect beet.” 

The house was filled with hundreds of guests; music 
floated softly from an invisible band, and the hum of 
eager voices was heard everywhere. Presently a stir 
began, and amid that subdued hush which indicates ex- 
pectancy, somebody whispered loudly: ‘Tt is Mrs. Van 
Buskirk, I wonder how they will take it ?” and many eager 
eyes turned toward the door. 

Mrs. Van Buskirk came in, three masculine satellites 
accompanying her. She was a woman of voluptuous 
beauty. Her black curling hair was gathered high on her 
head, and in its darkness shone a coronet of diamonds. 
Her skin was neither dark, nor fair, but soft, warm and 
glowing, shading from creamy tints into brilliantly red 
cheeks and lips. Her white shoulders were more than 
generously displayed, but Mrs. Van Buskirk seemed not 
to mind, and her escorts appeared well pleased. Her 
gown of red satin was overhung with tulle, and floated 
and clung and swayed round her beautiful figure as if 
caressing its enticing curves. Scarlet, flaming red from 
head to foot, she stood as if encased in flames, the dia- 
monds on her breast and head like sparks of fire. Her 
head was thrown back, as she stood a moment in laugh- 
ing conversation in the doorway, that all might see her 
entrance. 

As she advanced towards the hostess, her black eyes 
rested on Eleanor for a short moment, then turned and 
fastened themselves on Manning. A smile hovered round 
the beautiful mouth, made for ardent kissing, and a 
world of burning, glowing love, seemingly sprung into 
life and irradiated her face, now like a siren’s calling to 
the heart of the man for whom she longs. 

Eleanor saw the sudden response that sprang into 
Manning’s face at the open challenge of the woman. 


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47 


''Shameless!’’ cried her outraged soul, but sternly re- 
pressing the outraged feelings that struggled for freedom, 
she turned to greet the woman looking into her eyes with 
smiling insolence. 

When Mrs. Norton remarked aloud as Mrs. Van 
Buskirk passed her, "She is out in character to-night, 
'The Scarlet Woman’,” her companion, an old grey haired 
man tittered aloud. 

Mrs. Van Buskirk turned to meet Mrs. Norton’s attack 
her eyes sparkling with the enjoyment of her retort, 
"They say that the beautiful bride resembles her father. Is 
that so, Mrs. Norton? You doubtless remember him best,” 
and laughing at the old woman’s enraged face, she en- 
tered the ball room. 

Meanwhile, half way secluded from the crowd, be- 
hind the partly drawn draperies of a large window, stood 
Charles De Witte, the celebrated painter of female beauty. 
His face was fairly aglow with delight as he watched his 
hostess: "What beauty! What a joy to paint her!” A 
woman turned her head, laughing: "Can you do it better 
than her maid, young man ?” she inquired, for it was Mrs. 
Norton, whose rancorous tongue seemed ever ready to- 
night with venom-tipped remarks. 

De Witte turned to her, and said warmly: "Mrs. Nor- 
ton, I see you confound the craft of man with the handi- 
work of God.” 

"And you are reaching an age, Madame, when it would 
be well to familiarize yourself with some of His wonder- 
ful works,” rejoined Dr. Bryan, another witness of the 
scene. 

Mrs. Norton was the Doctor’s pet aversion, and he was 
as cordially disliked by her. "How much about it do you 
know, if one might inquire ?” she tartly responded. His 
reply was immediate: "At least enough to prevent my 


48 


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mistaking for it some objectionable products of his Sa- 
tanic Majesty, when I meet them;’’ and with a pro- 
found bow, the old man passed on. 

The guests began to leave, and in the crowded rooms 
it became easier to move about. 

Mrs. Norton had missed Manning, and the bright spot 
of color made by Mrs. Van Buskirk’s red gown. Some- 
where, she knew, they were together. Far back in the 
dimly-lit conservatory, was a small grotto-like corner 
obscured by screens of palms, even the most indis- 
creet would have thought twice before choosing it as a 
rendezvous, but with the sureness of a bird of prey, Mrs. 
Norton sought it. A slight sound caught her ear. *T 
thought so,” she exulted, and stood listening awhile 
then boldly entered, discovering Mrs. Van Buskirk on a 
low seat, Manning’s arms around her, as she rested 
against him. 

In the darkness they could at first recognize her 
only by her voice. ‘‘Nice scene! very nice indeed! It’s 
a great pity that you two married people should each 
be married to someone else.” 

“You meddlesome old devil!” Mrs. Van Buskirk 
cried, rising from her seat. 

“Do you know by what name society calls you?” 
Mrs. Norton raved, her voice growing louder. 

“For God’s sake. Aunt Norton, don’t make a scene. 
Think of the family. Don’ t speak so loud, I beg of 
you,” Manning entreated. 

“And I must think of the family, must I ? How about 
you, William? Quite unnecessary for you to think 
of anyone I suppose. Your loving new wife for instance. 
How will she like an account of this?. And your 
mother-in-law, William. Think of your mother-in-law, 
and of her reproachful tears,” her laugh was as full of 


THE JUDGMENT 


49 


maliciousness as of unholy glee. 'To think of your fall- 
ing from your virtuous married state — ^you, William, 
the possible father of a family ! What an example !’’ She 
barred their vray, and went on — ^"Have you thought 
what an example you are giving your wife? With her 
beauty, and the admiration of your men friends, do you 
not suppose she may have a chance to follow it?’’ 

"For mercy’s sake let’s go. She can’t do any worse if 
she follows us through the rooms preaching virtue,” 
Mrs. Van Buskirk snapped. 

"For God’s sake, keep quiet, Aunt Norton, and you 
can command me in anything,” Manning begged as he 
passed her, but he only received her assurance — "I’ll be 
quiet as long as it suits me, William ; you can buy some 
women, but you can’t buy me.” 

The next day when Manning came down to break- 
fast, his face was sullen and his eyes puffed. He 
glanced at Eleanor, trying to guess whether or not his 
aunt had told her, but there was nothing in her face to 
show she knew. 

Mrs. Howard never came down to breakfast, but 
Maude and Eva straggled in; Maude evidently in a bad 
humor, and Eva looking as if she had spent the night 
in tears. 

"What’s the matter with you? You both look as 
cross as I ever saw you,” their brother asked. Maude 
made no reply, but Eva, afraid to remain silent, said, 
"I am sick.” 

"Better see a doctor.” After a few moments, he went 
on: "Sick! So am I. Sick as the devil of this foolish- 
ness. I wish I’d never heard of the damned ball.” He 
gave his wife a furious glance, indicating that with her 
lay the blame. 

"Why don’t you talk, Eleanor. Can’t you do anything 


50 


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but sit there with that infernal superior smile on your 
face? Say something,” he raved. 

''Good morning,” she said, and rising left the room. 
''Damnation !” was what he sent after her. 

After breakfast, the sisters found Eleanor in the 
library. 

"Are you not too tired to read?” Maude asked, sink- 
ing into a sleepy hollow chair. 

"No, I am not so tired as I thought I should be. I 
slept well.” 

"Well, I didn’t. I had a perfectly horrid night. I 
did not enjoy the ball in the least, besides, did you 
notice how many of the women were drunk?” 

"I noticed some peculiar behavior,” Eleanor answered. 

"Well, I should think so; both Mrs. Van Buskirk 
and that Martin woman tried to empty every punch 
bowl in the house. Mrs. Martin reeled as she walked. 
Everyone noticed her, though she wasn’t the only one 
who took too much champagne. Mrs. Van Buskirk 
openly says that she only takes enough wine to make 
her feel good, and look pretty, but the only reason 
she is never very drunk is that she is drinking all the 
time.” 

Eva chimed in, "I am sure, Eleanor, I can’t see how 
you could fail to notice the state many of them were 
in. It took three men to put Mrs. Martin into her 
carriage. I saw it myself.” 

"Perhaps I am not observant,” Eleanor replied, un- 
willing to discuss the subject. 

"I have often thought you so, but if after last night, 
considering all there was to see, your eyes are still 
closed, you are more than unobservant, you are blind.” 
While Maude spoke with unpleasant meaning, 
Eleanor only smiled, for she was learning daily. 


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51 


An hour later, Maude, alone in the library, was ab- 
sently watching the flames in the grate, when Mrs. Norton 
entered. 'T took my morning drive, as usual, even 
though I was up so late, and thought Fd come in to 
see how you are. What is the matter? You look as 
though you had lost your last friend.’’ 

‘T couldn’t lose what I never had,” Maude answered 
moodily. 

''Yes, you have one friend, Maude; myself. This, 
of course, is unusual, since we are related, but as you 
cannot interfere with me and I would not do so with 
you, we can safely be friends. I shall speak plainly 
to you. Are we in danger of beng interrupted? 
Where is that girl?” 

"She went for a drive, from which I wish she might 
never return. I hate her.” 

"I know you do, and everyone else will soon know 
it if you show it as plainly as you are doing now. Have 
you any claim on Charles DeWitte?” 

Maude’s face crimsoned at this sudden reading of 
her secret. "N-o-,” she stammered. 

"It is as plain as day that you are infatuated with 
him, and it is also plain that he is going to become 
infatuated with this sister-in-law of yours.” Maude 
was unprepared and her jealousy broke loose, as she 
sobbed, "Oh, I hate her! I wish she was dead.” 

"Yes, but don’t be a fool. Do something; sit up and 
listen.” When she had heard a complete account of 
her brother’s stolen meeting with Mrs. Van Buskirk — 

"But I don’t see how this can hurt her. Aunt Norton. 
You know she cares nothing for William,” she argued. 

"You don’t?” Then you have no sense. Can’t you 
see that he is going back to the Van Buskirk womto, 
and that there is no telling how it will end ?” 


52 


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‘‘Yes, but—’’ 

‘‘Don’t say ‘but’ to me,” interrupted her aunt. “Wc 
can break up this marriage if we go about it right.” 

“I don’t care if she keeps William forever,” Maude 
cried, again breaking into angry weeping, “if she 
only ” 

“Poor fool!” Her aunt cast the words at her as 
though they were stones; “You mean she can have 
William, but that you want DeWitte. We all know that; 
but if you are not careful, she will soon have DeWitte 
and William too, and then where will you be?” 


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53 


CHAPTER V 


‘‘A great compliment was paid you last night, 
Eleanor, De Witte wants to paint your portrait for 
the next exhibition,’’ Manning said to his wife, as the 
family sat together at the luncheon table. 

‘'How perfectly lovely,” Mrs. Howard exclaimed, 
“and how envious all the women will be. Of course 
you said ‘yes’ William?” 

“Yes, I thanked him, and promised that the sittings 
should begin at once.” 

“But I do not care for notoriety. I do not want 
a portrait of myself exhibited.” Eleanor spoke for the 
first time. There was displeasure in her voice at being 
so lightly considered. 

Mrs. Howard reached out a warning hand, at Man- 
ning’s quick look of irritation, and she tried to cover 
Eleanor’s displeasure by saying: “Of course, Eleanor, 
you wish the painting made.” 

“I intend to buy it if he will sell it, provided I like 
the work,” Manning responded. Eleanor knew she 
must agree to whatever her husband demanded, but 
there was something that made her stipulate that 
Manning purchase it after the exhibition. 

No one noticed the painful intensity of Maude’s 
expression, or the eagerness with which she waited for 


54 


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Eleanor's reply. Like a burning match applied to 
powder, her brother's words had set on fire her 
smoldering jealous hatred. She rose before the meal 
was finished, and went to her room. 

Since the scene with her in the conservatory, on 
the night of the ball. Manning had apparently for- 
gotten Mrs. Van Buskirk, and gave more attention 
to Eleanor, but Mrs. Van Buskirk had not despaired. 
'T will give him a year or so," she said, laughing at 
his desertion of herself. The sight of a man devoting 
his time to his own wife to the exclusion of other 
women, she declared, was to her unusually refreshing, 
but she never failed to leave the poisoned hint that 
Manning's close attendance on his wife, emanated 
from suspicion of her conduct. And all the time 
Eleanor beat against the network of deceit around her, 
and rebelled against her bondage to the man she now 
despised. 

Alternately kind and unreasonably cruel; jealous 
over nothing. Manning seemed ever on the watch for 
hidden meanings in her every glance at other men; then 
in dejected repentance returned to her, declaring his 
unworthiness. Once he had told her in one of these 
moods, ‘'When you give me a son, I will be so happy, 
I will never again mistreat you." They were return- 
ing from a ball at the Overton home. Tired out, Elea- 
nor leaned her head against the softly cushioned car- 
riage, and was half way asleep when awakened by 
Manning's kisses upon her face. “Look up at me, my 
girl; look up and let me see your face. To think that 
you are mine, all mine," and again he covered her face 
and hair with passionate kisses. “Don't you see that 
I never have eyes for any one else now, Eleanor? Of 
course, I know you know of the talk concerning Mrs. 


THE JUDGMENT 


55 


Van Buskirk, but there has been nothing between us 
now for — some time — and there never will be any 
more if you are good. I say, Eleanor, I want to settle 
down; have our own family; our own children. I 
am anxious for a son. I want my name handed down. 
I am the last of the family. Give me a son, and I 
will be your willing slave, yours and his.’’ 

‘‘Do you think our life would be good surroundings 
for them, if we had children?” Eleanor asked in a 
muffled tone, while over her heart swept recollections 
of the many open insults and covert insinuations she 
had endured since entering this man’s home, at his 
hands and those of his spitefully jealous sisters. 

“As for that,” he replied, “I promise you now that 
when this happiness is mine, I will provide another 
home for Maude and Eva. From that day you shall 
have no wish unfilled; your mother shall be amply 
provided for, and you shall live in perfect happiness 
if my love, my gratitude and my wealth can secure 
it for you. Ah! Eleanor, I beg you, make me the 
happiest of men, and make me so, soon.” 

George Overton was a business man, engrossed in 
making money. Between him and the uplifted soul- 
fulness of his wife existed little of the atmosphere she 
loved. She disdained his sordid occupation, and re- 
fused to interest herself in the details of his business, 
declining to sink to anything more mundane than 
freely spending the money he made. She was ever on 
the search for sympathy and understanding of her 
heart-to-heart communings ; for one who might afford 
a safe and willing listener to the outpourings of her 
misunderstood and unappreciated soul. “Mrs. Over- 
soul,” the jest of a sarcastic friend, fitted so well that 


56 


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the name was adopted. Her parlors, one afternoon, 
were more than usually filled, when Eleanor and her 
mother entered. 

At one side stood Mrs. Van Buskirk, surrounded 
by the usual crowd of men. Among them was Charles 
DeWitte. As Eleanor passed them, he remarked : 
‘‘There goes the most beautiful of living women.’’ Mrs. 
Van Buskirk turned to him a mocking face. “Do 
not throw away your admiration on that iceberg. Her 
heart is a desert waste ; no man can live there.” De- 
Witte audaciously replied : “Perhaps he who might 
have lived therein had been previously blighted in a 
more torrid clime.” 

In the laugh that followed, Mrs. Van Buskirk 
joined, for she was not sensitive. She turned to Rob- 
ert Van Arsdale, crying in mock distress: “Rescue me, 
oh, Bobby of the curling locks, from the unjust at- 
tacks of this sharp-tongued slanderer.” 

Mrs. Overton, chatting with Eleanor and Mrs. 
Howard, heard the laughter, and cried, “Come over 
here, all of you, and tell us the cause of your merri- 
ment,” lifting her great blue eyes appealingly to De- 
Witte’s face. 

“You wouldn’t understand, it’s all in plain English,” 
laughed back Mrs. Van Buskirk, in an effort to keep 
DeWitte away, but as he moved forward, Mrs. Van 
Buskirk followed, her crowd trailing behind her. 

Just as the women greeted each other, Bobby Van 
Arsdale turned to John Hilbrandt and asked, under his 
breath: “What is the difference between Mrs. Van 
Buskirk and Mrs. Manning?” Hilbrandt, taking it 
literally, answered: “Why, by Jove, there is lots of 
difference. I don’t think they are at all alike.” Bobby 
laughed in glee, then turned to Mrs. Gordon Leigh, re- 


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67 


peating his question. Propounding conundrums was 
Bobby’s chief delight. 

She answered, quickly, ‘'Why, Manning, of course.” 

‘T love to have my conundrums guessed,” said 
Bobby. 

“Don’t call that a conundrum, Bobby, a blind man 
could answer that.” 

“It is not fair,” cried Mrs. Van Buskirk, “for 
you two to be whispering there behind our backs; I 
will not permit it.” 

“You wouldn’t like it any better if we made our re- 
marks aloud,” half whispered Bobby, in laughing im- 
pudence. 

A frown gathered on Mrs. Van Buskirk’s beauti- 
ful brow, as the thought stirred, that perhaps they 
were beginning to laugh at her more than she would 
like. 

In the short silence, Mrs. Overton grasped the oppor- 
tunity to capture DeWitte’s attention. Her hands 
clasped each other, her shoulders rose as she cried 
in her intense way: “Oh, that last afternoon in your 
studio! I can never forget it. My soul was lifted, 
and borne away on dream wings to realms of joy. Let 
there be another soon,” and her blue eyes clung to 
his, as if they would never release him. 

DeWitte was surely not laughing at his hostess, 
but his mouth struggled hard with its desire to twitch, 
and in his eyes little imps of laughter danced, but 
“Mrs. Oversoul” did not see it. She heard her own 
voice, and in her ears it was always sweet. She con- 
tinued: “Ah! for a soul like yours! What joy! Each 
thrill, each bound of your heart awakening to newer 
and grander achievements. We can but grovel and 
admire; adore and cherish the glowing spark that in 


58 


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you lives. Oh, say it now! Tell us that you will 
never withdraw it from our enraptured eyes. Say that 
the masterly work of your genius may ever remain our 
own, for our hearts are bleeding with your threat of 
leaving us for Germany.’’ Mrs. Overton’s face was 
raised close to DeWitte’s, who stood for the instant, 
unable to reply. Then bowing low, he answered her 
in a laughing voice: ‘'Then bleed no more, dear heart, 
for I have decided to remain to attempt to paint from 
the most lovely model in the world. With such an 
one, what man could fail?” As he spoke, he indicated 
Eleanor. 

“Mrs. Manning!” cried Mrs. Overton, and her figure 
straightened instantly; all the ardor left her voice, 
making room for the leaping green-eyed monster come 
to life. 

“Mrs. Manning?” echoed Mrs. Buskirk; but her 
voice was calmer, and through its liquid notes, a ripple 
of malicious laughter broke. “Ah, indeed! does Wil- 
liam know?” DeWitte turned to the speaker, in his 
eyes a warning to a more careful woman. “I owe 
my good fortune to him. It is through his request, 
that Mrs. Manning consents to sit for me. The only 
blight to my pleasure is that she has coupled her con- 
sent with the unkind condition that I must sell the 
picture to her husband after it is exhibited.” 

“So sweet of you, dear child,” Mrs. Van Buskirk 
cooed to Eleanor, “to have thought of this for Wil- 
liam. How he will enjoy the beautiful picture,” and 
again she laughed, as she turned away. 

On the homeward drive, her mother said: “Wasn’t 
it funny, Eleanor, to see Mrs. Overton’s and Mrs. Van 
Buskirk’s jealousy when Mr. DeWitte spoke of the 
picture. I was so amused.” 


THE JUDGMENT 


59 


‘‘Were you?” 

“Why, didn’t you notice it?” Mrs. Howard was 
surprised. 

“I cannot find it diverting to see and know that 
everything and everybody is vile and base. Most of 
the women we know are depraved; the men are the 
same. Everything is lost sight of except the one 
great struggle for position, place, supremacy and 
money ; there is no friendship, nothing true or good.” 

“Why, child, what foolish words. Why should you 
care? Of course, the world is all alike, but you have 
everything to make you happy. They only envy you, 
and if you are very careful, I do not think that William 
will go back to Mrs. Van Buskirk. Of course, you 
must be cautious, and of late I have thought you were 
not — ” Her daughter interrupted her. 

“Do you think I care for that! What is he to me?” 

Mrs. Howard broke in irritably: “Oh, Eleanor, don’t 
talk so insanely. If you have not the sense to be 
thankful for all you have gained, I will be thankful 
for both.” 

In silence, Eleanor’s thoughts ran on. “What is 
the difference between us? Am I better than they? 
They live in secret shame with other women’s hus- 
bands ; I, in no less shame with a man from whom my 
heart turns in revolt. Is he in reality my husband, 
for whom I feel disgust, contempt and hatred? What 
is marriage? Is it this enslavement of the physical 
man or woman, which leaves the heart to search the 
world, and freely take a dearer one, or is it ever a 
living bondage of true souls?” ^ 

When an envious woman makes gifts to the serv- 
ants of another woman, it generally means that she is 
getting that for which she pays. As a rule, the more 


60 


THE JUDGMENT 


envious the woman, the more generous is the pay; 
but as Cleo left Maude’s room, something round and 
shining in her hand, she muttered : ‘'Ah ! she ces 
steengy! Aixeep for me, what could she do? And 
but dis leetle piece for all I haf tole her. Eet ees as 
nutting, and eef dis ees all, I vill vatch no more.” 

Within her room sat Maude, a deep frown on her 
brow, her chin resting in her palm, her elbow on the 
table beside her. Before her were the cards Cleo had 
brought. “Charles DeWitte” was engraved upon 
them all, and the name stared upward with cruel dis- 
tinctness into Maude’s jealous eyes. The flowers 
came each morning, and Eleanor usually received 
them herself. She made no effort to conceal the cards 
which accompanied them, and Cleo had found it easy 
to collect them, and make it appear an important dis- 
covery when she displayed to Maude her hands filled 
with them. 

Servants soon learn to read their masters’ faces; 
their barometers of good and bad weather; and to con- 
vert to their own interests the emotions mirrored 
therein; and the maid’s agile touch played on the 
vibrating chords of her patron’s jealousy, until she 
changed the jarring strains into song that was sweet 
to Cleo’s ears, the musical tinkle of gold. 

Since the commencement of the portrait, Maude had 
suffered all the pangs of jealous rage. Each time 
Eleanor left the house for DeWitte’s studio, Cleo 
sought Maude with the information, and from her face 
gathered the knowledge that she had found her best 
market. “Eet ees to ze studio zat she again goes, 
M’amselle,” Cleo began, returning an hour later, un- 
able to relinquish the hope of an increased generosity 
upon her patron’s part. 


THE JUDGMENT 


61 


Then Cleo determined to make her grand stroke: 
'‘Eet ees to M’sieur you must go, M’amselle. Eet 
cannot be zat he knows of ze many visits and ze long 
time of zem zat she stay. Eet would ruin her eef him 
you tell of eet,'’ aAd Cleo's eager eyes exhibited vin- 
dictive dislike for her young mistress, displaying as 
well, her perfect understanding of Maude’s feelings. 

Incensed already, and made more so by this assured 
reading of her mind, Maude spoke angrily: '‘You are 
insolent, girl. How dare you speak so to me?” 

Cleo quailed under the angry eyes, until she saw 
that the tears were not far away, and then began, 
speaking rapidly, her shoulders upraised, her hands 
clasped : "But ah ! forgif me, M’amselle, eef I haf done 
not ze right, eet ees for you alone I speak. Wen I 
see zat your place she haf here taken, pushed you 
aside, and zat she now deceive you all, I cannot keep 
silent. Eet ees all for you. You haf to me been ze 
angel of goodness, must I zen keep all zat I so plainly 
see from your generous eyes? You, who are all good- 
ness, cannot suspect. I haf see eet so long zat I but 
now forget myself. Ah! eef I you displease zen I 
despair. But, no more vill I speak; no, nefair vill I 
again offend. Wretched girl am I, eef you forgif me 
not, but my h-e-a-r-t, eet ees breaking! I cannot — 
no — and the incoherent voice was drowned in 
sobs, as Cleo turned to leave the room. 

Maude watched her, until she reached the door, 
then called: "Come back, Cleo, don’t cry. I do not 
want to hurt your feelings. You shall tell me what 
you like,” but Cleo sobbed on: "No, M’amselle, nefair 
vill I again offend. Nefair vill I speak, eef I haf lose 
your lofe zen to me zair ees nutting lef! Let me go. 
My heart eet ees sad,” and she laid her hand on the 


62 THE JUDGMENT 

door, her shoulders shaking, her voice broken with 
sobs. 

Maude knew she could not let her go, and so did 
Cleo. Without her help, what could she learn of 
Eleanor’s movements. There was, therefore, nothing 
to do but succumb to an unnatural generosity, and 
give to Cleo the reward she had earned. As she 
pressed the glittering pieces into the girl’s hands, 
Maude’s eyes were a warning, but Cleo cared nothing 
for that. She had her pay at last, and more than she 
had hoped for. 

The smiles with artful slowness drove back her 
grief. ''Eet ees not ze gole zat I care for; eet ees 
zat you vill not remove from me your precious lofe. 
I but take ze monie because eet ees from you. Always 
shall I keep eet. Always shall I lofe you, M’amselle. 
Your Cleo forever, M’amselle, am I. Ah! but my 
heart ees now again in happiness, zat you will forgif 
me. 

With the door between them everything was 
changed. Maude sank back into her chair in sullen 
defeat. '‘That she should dare to speak so to me! 
How I hate Eleanor !” 

Once outside, Cleo’s black eyes seemed to pierce 
the closed door. The simulated grief was entirely 
gone, as she looked at the gold, and laughed: “Who 
did vin, M’amselle, you or I? I think eet vill be 
always Cleo,” and she ran down the hall. 

“William, can you meet me in my sitting room?” 
Maude asked her brother, as they left the luncheon 
table. 

She was prepared for him when he entered, and in- 
dicated a chair near her writing desk, standing open. 


THE JUDGMENT 


63 


'‘Well, here I am; what is it you want?” he asked. 

'T want to ask you for something,” Maude replied. 

“Yes, so I suppose; that is generally the case with 
you and Eva,” her brother laughed sarcastically. 

Maude was on her mettle and began the attack: “It 
is my mother’s portrait. I want it hung in here.” 

“Indeed, and why? Can you not enjoy it where it 
hangs ?” 

“No, I cannot; it pains me to know that it is hang- 
ing downstairs, in view of all it must see. Her face 
should not be there. Let me have it, I beg, that I 
may place it where no one with dissolute impunity 
dare insult the memory of her virtuous life.” 

“What the devil do you mean? Of whom do you 
speak?” 

“I imagine you can guess. Brother William.” 

“Speak out, Maude, be honest for once. It may not 
hurt you. Do you mean that I insult my mother’s 
portrait ?” 

“No.” 

“Then who?” 

“Don’t you know?” 

“Do you mean Eva?” 

“Of course not. The virtue of the Manning women 
is unquestioned.” 

“Then who in hell do you mean ? Speak out, 
woman, I don’t like this sort of thing.” He rose from 
his chair and advanced toward her. 

“Look on the desk and see if you do not find there 
some light upon the subject,” and Maude pointed to 
the pile of cards. 

“Charles DeWitte,” he read aloud, “what of him? 
How did you come by all these cards, and what has 
he to do with it?” 


64 


THE JUDGMENT 


'‘The cards came with flowers to your wife/’ Maude 
stated in fierce tones. 

Manning’s face suddenly grew dark, but for a little 
while longer he maintained a semblance of calm. 
"Yes? That’s pretty hard on you, isn’t it?” he sneered. 

Maude burst forth : “How dare you, William ! But 
you shall listen to me and know how often she is 
alone with him for hours at a time. There is a dis- 
graceful connection between them. Are you no part 
of a man to countenance it? Behind the cold dislike 
she feels for you, she hides her love for DeWitte. 
She loves him, I tell you ; she loves him and hates 
you. She was with him to-day. She will be again 
to-morrow. She loves DeWitte, she loves him,” and 
shaking with excitement and emotion, she grasped her 
brother’s arm with both her trembling hands. 

“Let go!” he cried, shaking her off, “you are lying, 
and you know it.” 

“I am not lying, she loves him; I can prove it. You 
shall see it.” 

Manning turned on her fiercely; “Prove it, you say? 
Then do so. Prove it — prove it — and you shall have 
your price,” he cried half choked with rage. 

In her fury, Maude had gone further than she in- 
tended, but unwilling to acknowledge this, she per- 
sisted: “I will prove it. Wait.” 

The days that followed were busy ones for Cleo. 
First of all she must gain entrance to DeWitte’s 
studio, spying on Eleanor during the sittings. This 
was her plan: Under pretex of shopping, she left the 
house and knowing that DeWitte would never recog- 
nize her as Mrs. Manning’s maid, applied to him as a 
model. In this way she gained the knowledge of how 
to reach his rooms. Once within the outer studio. 


THE JUDGMENT 


65 


Cleo’s quick eyes detected many good hiding places 
where she could watch them unseen during the few 
remaining sittings. The picture was nearly finished, 
and Cleo knew that she must hasten if she hoped to 
earn the large reward Maude promised her. 

Soon after Eleanor left the house, Cleo followed 
her, and once out of sight of the house, called a cab, 
driving nearly to DeWitte’s door. There she had no 
trouble, but telling the footman, 'T am ze model, and 
M’sieur expects me,’’ walked in unchallenged. 

De Witte’s rooms were not the usual bare-looking 
ones of artists. In the first room, costly and ex- 
quisite hangings decorated the openings, rare tapes- 
tries and rarer paintings mingled with old armor and 
weapons in a strangely beautiful effect. 

Behind the drawn portieres, hanging at the door of 
the inner studio, Cleo concealed herself. Her cat-like 
step was silent, and her soft dress made no sound. 
The curtains were long and loose, and among their 
generous folds she found it easy to hide. 

Eleanor was sitting in the cold blue north light, 
that fell from the glass ceiling. DeWitte was at his 
easel, and on his handsome face, the fire of genius 
fought in deadly conflict with the counter fire of 
human love, human passion and desire. 

Cleo had not waited long before she knew that if it 
rested on the man alone, she would gain the reward. 

Suddenly he cried out: ‘T can never do it, I cannot. 
Oh ! tell me, tell me why you change so. As I look at 
you now, I never want you to change, but while I look, 
I seem to see further and another being meets my 
eyes. You change to me at every look. I cannot 
paint you. I have your hair, your form, your dress. 
The face on my canvas is the lovely one before me, but 


66 


THE JUDGMENT 


Oh, my God! the eyes — ^your eyes, woman — cannot 
paint your eyes. They haunt me night and day. They 
glorify the night, and shine before me like two bril- 
liant stars, but when I look at their reality, my colors 
pale, my brush stiffens, my hand is numb, and my 
soul falls back in despair — ’’ His voice sank almost 
to a whisper at the last words, and he hurriedly passed 
his handkerchief over his moist forehead. His pale 
lips were trembling, and he could not control his 
voice. 

Eleanor rose from her seat and advanced toward 
the door: ‘‘Let me go now,” she said, “you are work- 
ing too hard. Rest to-day and to-morrow, it will all 
come right,” and she soon was gone. 

He did not accompany her to the waiting carriage, 
but as she left, he walked as if he still saw her, to- 
ward the chair where she had sat, then back again to 
his canvas. 

Silent, he gazed for a moment, then groaned aloud, 
“Oh, God, I love her! This is the woman! Give her 
to me. All I ask; this woman,” and overmastered by 
emotion, he leaned against the easel, misery stamped 
on his face ; the cruel misery of a hopeless love. Soon, 
into his face the watching woman saw a strange look 
creep. His eyes grew more intense, till they were set 
in their deep, faraway gaze. “As I want her to look,” 
he whispered in a strained, tense tone, and snatching 
a brush, began again with tender strokes upon the 
canvas. 

Cleo crept out of the folds of the curtains with a 
happy face: “It vill be for me,” she congratulated her- 
self. 

Manning had been peculiarly disagreeable of late, 
and Eleanor had felt the insult of his insinuating re- 


THE JUDGMENT 


67 


marks. Not once he spared her, and Maude’s mali- 
cious eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard him. 
He persistently threw her in the society of other men, 
but did not disguise his suspicious watchfulness. 

Mrs. Van Buskirk came often to the house, and in 
ostentatious display exhibited the peculiar influence, 
which she seemed to have regained over him. Elea- 
nor’s position was more and more unbearable. Man- 
ning’s attentiveness had faded as the months passed 
by and there appeared no promise of an heir, and she 
realized that her hold upon him, which at best was 
but that of her youth and beauty, coupled with his desire 
for a son to inherit his wealth and perpetuate his 
name, was on the wane. 

The thought was constantly with him, and when 
alone with her, his petulant reiteration of his disap- 
pointment made her more than ever hate and despise 
him. 

In this frame of mind, it was easy for Maude to 
work upon his evil nature, and poison his mind against 
Eleanor, who he declared was spitefully refusing him 
the boon he craved. 

Maude had been readily persuaded by the unscrupu- 
lous French girl that it would be possible to surprise 
Eleanor in a compromising attitude with DeWitte, 
for jealousy ever lends a willing ear to suspicious 
doubt; accepting as true, insinuations which reason 
and sanity should stamp as false; and after Cleo’s 
vivid description of DeWitte’s passionate absorption 
in the painting, and his evident admiration for his 
beautiful model, Maude was willing and eager to con- 
vince her brother that all that was lacking as proof of 
Eleanor’s defection was to be unseen watchers of an 


68 THE JUDGMENT 

interview between them, while DeWitte was painting 
her portrait. 

There did not thrive in the Manning family the idea 
of honor first ; expediency after ; and Manning decided 
that the end would justify him in adopting any chosen 
means. He therefore agreed to follow Eleanor to De- 
Witte’s studio, and with Maude’s help detect her in 
the suspected guilty love. 

Maude’s black eyes burned fiercely, and her face 
was frightful in its sallow pallor when they entered 
DeWitte’s door. Fortunately this was hidden under 
her veil, but Manning had no such convenient mask, 
and his sinister look would have excited suspicion if 
Cleo had not paved the way. Her smiles and her 
ingratiating rewards had already secured for her plans, 
entire safety for the eavesdroppers. Pretending to be- 
lieve in the clumsy excuse of an engagement, De- 
Witte’s servant let them in, and they were soon ad- 
vantageously secreted by Cleo. 

From the folds of the heavy portieres they could 
see almost the entire interior of the studio, where De- 
Witte painted. The room was more vacant than the 
first and larger one, but no bareness was shown. The 
artist’s love for beauty was displayed in the colors of 
the polished woods, the subdued tone of the few hang- 
ings, and the burnished glow of the heavy copper 
boxes that held his painter’s paraphernalia. Even his 
easels were massive and handsomely carved. 

Eleanor had not arrived, and the delay of her com- 
ing seemed endless. 

DeWitte was in the studio, and in evident eager ex- 
pectancy. He paced back and forth like a restless 
prisoner. At the slightest sound his face brightened, 
his breath quickened, and alive in every fibre he 


THE JUDGMENT 


awaited the fulfillment of his expectancy. To Man- 
ning, watching him, came the suspicion: ‘‘Has his 
man betrayed us? He is so restless. Does he know?” 
till reassured by the apparent absence of suspicion in 
the man he watched, he whispered: “No, he does not 
know, or he would be more careful. He shows too 
great interest.” 

At last footsteps approached, and two women en- 
tered, Eleanor and her mother. Over DeWitte's face 
a shadow passed. He had hoped that Eleanor would 
come alone, but he came forward, and in conventional 
greeting bade them welcome. 

“Eleanor tells me that the painting is nearly done, 
Mr. DeWitte,” and Mrs. Howard turned expectantly 
toward the covered easel. 

“Yes, just one more sitting,” he answered, but he 
made no motion to remove the cover and show the 
picture. 

Mrs. Howard did not enjoy waiting during the quiet 
sittings and she suddenly remembered that she could 
attend to some shopping and return within an hour. 
Soon DeWitte was alone with Eleanor. “Shall we 
commence now?” she queried, in unconscious haste 
at something in his face that lately had not always 
been well covered or disguised. 

“No need to. It is finished,” he answered her, and 
stepped to the easel, laying his hand upon the cover. 
She interrupted him — “Then why did you not tell 
my mother?” 

“Because I must have you see it first of all. I may 
as well tell you,” a;nd the words came fast, “but first 
look, then tell me if the picture is true;” and he 
snatched off the long cover, and laid bare the portrait. 

She was painted in white. The dress was soft 


70 


THE JUDGMENT 


and filmy and clinging, and seemed to serve but to 
drape the slender young figure. One tapering arm 
hung in unconscious repose by her side. The other 
was slightly raised, as if in hesitant expectancy. The 
soft tones of the painted figure were marvelous. They 
made the painting seem alive. The head was slightly 
bent forward, the curling bronze-tinted hair piled in 
exquisite half disarray. The tints of the face were 
wonderfully lovely, the blue veins in the temple 
showed through the white skin, where it deepened into 
pink and creamy tones in the cheeks and to scarlet in 
the softly curving mouth, then paled again to purest 
white in the neck and lovely rounded shoulders. But 
the art of the portrait lay in the eyes, which for so long 
had baffled him. They were Eleanor’s large, dark 
brown eyes, but as you looked at them, they changed 
until they were not Eleanor’s eyes.' They were still 
large, and dark and brown, but Eleanor’s eyes held in 
them no hint of gladness. They were not cruel, but 
they were cold ; they were not heartless, but they were 
sometimes hurt; they were not sorrowful, but they 
were often sad. 

The eyes in the portrait were glad, they were sweet, 
they were young, they were happy, they were alluring, 
they seemed to say: ‘'Enjoy life with me. Come! Come! 
life is lovely; life is sweet; I feel it; I thrill with the 
joy of it; I love!” 

DeWitte did not say a word, nor did Eleanor, but 
the man’s breath was coming fast, his face was pale, 
his hand was tightly closed, and his eyes were fixed 
on Eleanor’s face in eager inquiry, as if he sought 
to read her soul. 

Still Eleanor did not speak, but gazing at the pic- 
ture, a deeply troubled look came to her face, and she 


THE JUDGMENT 71 

ended the long silence with a long breathy half sob, 
half sigh. 

‘‘Tell me/’ DeWitte whispered, and even then his 
voice trembled. 

‘T can’t explain,” she answered, and turned to look 
again. “What have you done to it? It was like me 
yesterday, but not to-day. Oh ! you have made it hurt 
me.” Her voice was full of pain. “You make it haunt 
me with what I might have felt. Take that look out 
of the eyes, if the picture is of me. Take it out! I 
cannot look at it!” and all her training in self-control 
deserted her. She turned away, the scalding tears 
came slowly through her fingers, pressed tight over 
her eyes. 

DeWitte, at her side, tried to loosen the protecting 
hands; his voice came back, and his words poured 
forth strong and fervent: “Dear one, do not grieve, do 
not despair; you can feel that way; you shall. It is 
a lie, this life of yours. Your true life is another, far, 
far different. Look up, and let me show you in my 
heart the love, no, the worship there for you. All 
this time I have loved you, idolized you, lived only in 
your sight. Outside is night; my cruelest despair. 
Look, Eleanor, see, read my heart. There is nothing 
in it a pure woman like you need blush to see. I love 
you, yes, I want you, yes, God only knows how much 
— but honestly — thank God. I want your love to open 
Heaven's gates, by just one word — say it — dear God, 
make her say it! — Leave this life of yours. It is a 
sacrilege; this daily torment. Everybody knows it; 
everybody sees it. Leave it, it is but honest to do so. 
Leave it, and let me give you another and a better. 
Oh, Eleanor! — Eleanor ! — I love, I love you so — ** His 
voice broke and ceased, for on Eleanor’s face was de- 


72 


THE JUDGMENT 


picted surprise, scorn and outraged indignation. 

He tried to speak again — ‘‘Don’t, don’t, Eleanor — ” 
but she lifted an imperious hand, and waved him back. 

“Wait! If you have finished, listen to me. As you 
say, it is true that my life is a lie, a daily torment. 
You remind me that I am bound to a man I must de- 
spise — ^yes — but are you better? I came among you 
not two years ago, an ignorant unformed child, and 
what have I seen? Duplicity, deceit and outraged 
decency everywhere. There is no honor — there is no 
truth — there is no goodness. You are all the same. 
Because I despise him, shall I love you? I do not be- 
lieve in your love. You do not know what love is. 
If you loved me, you would pity my ruined life, and 
would have been my friend — instead, you have 
leagued yourself with them to insult me. Never speak 
to me again. Let me pass.” 

“Oh, God, Eleanor, don’t go like this; believe me — 
oh I believe me. I swear I mean no harm. Think — is 
it more decent to live with him as you do, because of 
the publicity of the divorce you could so readily gain. 
Think of Mrs. Van Buskirk — think of that horrible 
Maude Manning. They will triumph over you yet, I 
warn you, it will come ; they will triumph. Then leave 
it now before they do. You do not know, child, you 
cannot fathom their meanness, their deep duplicity 
and underhand knife thrusts. Maude Manning is a 
devil in woman’s form, and Mrs. Van Buskirk a 
shameless woman. Be warned, I beg — I can make 
you so happy — I will— I will — ” 

“I will not listen; let me go. Let them triumph. 
Friendless I came — friendless I can remain. Let me 
go.” She moved again toward the door, and with a 
sweep of her arm threw aside the portiere. 


THE JUDGMENT 


73 


DeWitte sprang forward, and tried to bar the way, 
begging: "‘Tell me you do not hate me.” 

‘‘But I do, I hate, I despise you all!” and imperiously 
she motioned him aside. 

As the curtains swept back, a man’s small shining 
foot was visible. Eleanor saw it, and turning, pointed. 
She raised her eyes to DeWitte’s face, and in scornful 
tones, still pointing toward the curtain, inquired : 
“May I ask if you have provided yourself with an in- 
visible witness to this interview, in which you so 
eloquently plead in honor’s cause?” 

DeWitte could not speak. The scorn in her tones 
cut him like a whip. He snatched back the curtain to 
disclose the hiders, just as Maude and Manning 
stepped out on the other side. 

“We came for Eleanor, and hearing voices waited a 
moment. We have just come in,” but Maude’s pale face, 
burning eyes and her rage-shaken voice belied the words. 

DeWitte made no reply, but his look was eloquent 
of his contempt. It fell on Maude with all its force, 
and made her writhe. 

Then Eleanor spoke, and her voice had regained its 
calm : “One might have known it was you two.” Her 
eyes traveled over them an instant, then she turned. 
“I think I will go. Doubtless you three may like to 
talk this over; good bye,” and her laugh ratig out, 
cold, mirthless and insulting. 

At the sound, DeWitte’s face quivered with pain, 
and passing the others, he too left the room. 

Manning turned, and in a savage snarling voice, 
began: “What in hell did you bring me here for? You 
are as big a fool as that damned little French devil, 
and between you two, you have gotten me into this.” 


74 THE JUDGMENT 

‘‘Oh, William!*' Maude sobbed^ unable longer to 
control her tears. 

“Shut your mouth, and learn to keep quiet. Every 
time you speak, you make a fool of yourself. You 
have acted like an infenral idiot to make me come here 
with you. I only came to please you. I hope you got 
a great deal of satisfaction from hearing DeWittc's 
opinion of you. Doesn't he love you! Ha! Ha! 
Perhaps you will still want to run him down. Well, 
you are welcome to, but you will have to do it with- 
out me hereafter," and Manning grabbed his hat and 
made for the door. 

“Don't leave me here, brother William," Maude im- 
plored, her face quivering with an agony of mortifica- 
tion and fear that she might again meet DeWittc, 
“He might come back." 

“You are safe from him. Don't be afraid. Hal 
Ha! Ha!" his face was purple, his hands were tremb- 
ling and cold, and his heart was on fire with rage, at 
the memory of Eleanor's plain description of her feelings 
for him. “I'll make her rue this day, the damned 
cold-hearted saint," he snarled. 

When Maude found herself alone, she looked 'round 
her in furtive dread of DeWitte's return. “Oh, let 
me get out," she whispered, as she stole through the 
hall. Her form was trembling and shaking with sobs. 
As she walked out, the footman smiled with open im- 
pudence. She saw it, and thrilled with anger in the 
midst of her shame. 


THE JUDGMENT 


75 


CHAPTER VI 


During the days that followed, there was little peace 
in the Manning household. Maude’s mortification 
changed to fierce resentment, and she redoubled her 
energies to render Eleanor’s life unbearable. 

Mrs. Howard had heard from Manning a highly col- 
ored version of the scene in the studio. '‘You should 
have been more discreet than to allow Mr. DeWitte 
to speak so openly,” she complained to Eleanor. “It 
will simply ruin us if you are not more careful. Wil- 
liam intimated that he is thinking of a divorce. Just 
think how awful! It would kill me. How can you 
so harass me with this constant uneasiness about ouf 
future. If I had to go back now to the misery I suf- 
fered before your marriage, I should die. As your 
father lay dying you promised him to look after me, 
and this is how you do it. You make my life a con- 
stant dread of evil. There is nothing William refuses 
you. Poor William ! You nearly drive him crazy 
with your indifference. He is beginning to be sus- 
picious of other men, and you have only yourself to 
blame. If you would only be a little more womanly. 
Oh, Lord ! why should I have such a heartless child,” 
and Mrs. Howard sought relief in a deluge of tears. 

“More womanly! Am I unwomanly because my 
heart shrinks with disgust at the deceit and selfishness 
around me? Am I inhuman, because I hate where I 


76 


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( 

am hated, and despise where I meet insult? If so, let 
me be inhuman to the end. It is my only joy, this 
hate I feel. A divorce would be happiness, a glad re- 
lease from the bondage which has degraded and in- 
sulted me from the first. Yes, I promised my father 
to care for you, and I have, I will. I will work, I will 
slave, I will struggle that you shall have your luxu- 
ries ; but do not ask me to endure this horrid life. Let 
us give them their divorce. Let us go to ourselves 
and have our existence, untainted of them. Oh, 
mother! mother! be my friend — just this once, I beg. 
Grant me this, I have so little. Think of Daddy, and 
let him plead for me. Let us go away — mother.*’ 
Eleanor sank to her knees beside her mother, the 
tears streaming down her face, and clasped her 
mother’s hands; only to be shaken off petulantly, as 
Mrs. Howard cried out: '‘You are insane, girl; give up 
now that we have secured all this? No, you shall not. 
you do not know what you say ; you are wild to think 
of it. Here we are and here we will remain. You will 
learn in time that I am right, and will thank me for 
refusing to listen to ravings. Get up ; dry your eyes ; 
end this silly talk ; treat your husband as you should ; 
he can take everything away from us. Do as he tells 
you, and all will be well.” 

Eleanor rose and faced her mother. All the plead- 
ing left her face ; all the softness, all the youth. “Elea- 
nor, these scenes must stop. You must learn to curb 
yourself. Be a woman, not a silly child. Respect me, 
and change your course, and you will thank me in the 
years to come.” 

For a minute Eleanor’s eyes searched her mother’s 
face, then she laughed harshly and coldly. “Then let 
me begin to learn. Let me be like others, and when 


THE JUDGMENT 


77 


you see the woman you make of me, may you be proud 
of your work. From this day, from this hour, I will 
learn. I will be as the rest. I will meet their insults 
and insinuating thrusts; they shall feel my cold steel 
in return. I will meet the/ men and women who throng 
this house from now on with a smiling face. If my 
heart is stifled by a weight of pain, my face shall 
smile. If I am again 'inhuman, unwomanly,’ it shall 
be in secret. In my heart shall lie my sorrow, since 
to you it is only a complaint of silly childhood. Rest 
assured, niother, to you I shall complain no more.” 

As Eleanor went out, her mother’s eyes followed her 
in inquiry: "She looks so strange,” she murmured, "I 
wonder if she really meant it. She is too impetuous. 
I must keep her under. It is insane to think of leav- 
ing him. I simply could not do it. She must be 
crazy to imagine I would. She must stay.” 

Maude had showed embarrassment under Eleanor’s 
gaze at their first meeting, but hate had steeled her 
heart, and she returned a look of sullen dislike to 
Eleanor’s sarcastic smile, as she took her seat at the 
table. It was Manning’s first meeting after the scene 
at the studio, and his face purpled at the remembrance 
of her words. Eleanor had learned the lesson. Her 
pose was defiant. Her face seemed to say: "At last 
I know you. Keep your distance, but feel my scorn, 
my contempt and my hatred.” 

Under Eleanor’s eyes Manning’s temper grew 
worse. Finally he burst out : "Are you all struck 
dumb? Can none of you say anything?” As he spoke, 
he cast an angry look at his wife. Slowly she turned 
her eyes to his, and with a strange smile, answered: 
"If I thought it worth while, I could say many things.” 
Manning’s face flushed, and he snarled : "These in- 


78 


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fernal airs of superiority that you are so fond of as- 
suming do not add much to your attractiveness, I can 
tell you/’ Eleanor shrugged her shoulders for reply. 

Emboldened by her brother’s ill natured remarks, 
Eva turned to Eleanor. ‘'Are you sick? Mrs. Van 
Buskirk said the other day that you looked half dead.” 

"No, I am not sick, thank you; my health is good. 
Perhaps my imperfections are more visible to some 
eyes than to others,” smiling straight into Eva’s 
spiteful face. 

Maude came to Eva’s rescue: "I believe you think 
you are perfect, in every way, Eleanor,” she sneered. 

Eleanor did not flinch under the concerted attack, 
but looking directly into Maude’s face, answered: "Oh, 
no, not perfect. These surroundings would make per- 
fection impossible ; but I consider myself as fairly 
respectable and there are a few things I still refuse to 
do; lying, slandering, bribing and eavesdropping, I 
leave to others. My great crime is that I live in their 
atmosphere, and with shame I plead guilty to the 
charge.” 

Maude was furious ; rising, she demanded in a voice 
which shook with rage: "William, will you allow this? 
Can’t you protect us from such insolence?” 

Manning looked at Eleanor as she sat toying with 
her teaspoon. Her face showed no sign of temper, and 
she returned his look as if she were totally indifferent 
as to what he might do or say. Angered at her words, 
and feeling keenly their application to himself as well 
as to his sisters, he would have resented them, but 
something in Eleanor’s face held him back with the 
unspoken thought: "She is right. She is above it, and 
if we go too far, she might make trouble.” 

"Don’t drag me in. Fight it out among yourselves. 


THE JUDGMENT 79 

You women are like cats, anyway; always at each 
other's throats." 

Maude left the room, her breakfast almost untasted, 
and Eva followed her. Left alone. Manning could not 
resist the impulse to reprove his wife. 'T wish, Elea- 
nor, you would try to refrain from quarrelling with 
the girls. It does not make them like you any better, 
and it upsets everything." 

Eleanor answered slowly, ‘Ts it quarrelling with 
them to speak of decency? I had not considered it as 
strictly quarrelling." 

He grew more angry. ‘^Now look here, I am tired 
of this. If I am all you say, remember it is my money 
that took you out of poverty; but for it, you would 
now be working for your living. Remember this, 
and respect it, if you don't respect me." 

‘‘Perhaps you are right. Your money is what gains 
for you consideration. I must remember it. You and 
your money are so closely interwoven in my mind that 
it is impossible to forget either ; but do not ask me for 
respect, which is impossible." 

Manning's voice quivered with rage. “What do you 
mean; how dare you speak so to me; you are in my 
power. I could throw you back into poverty and 
want. Do not go too far. If you are as cold as ice, 
I am not. It is my right to watch you, and I will, 
whenever it suits me, if that is what you mean. While 
you are my wife, I am your master, and I will control 
you if I have to do so by force. Remember this — 
you are mine. I have bought you, paid for you. 
The clothes you wear are mine. I will do with you 
as I please. I will force you into obedience ; you shall 
come under my will if I have to beat you into submis- 
sion," and his eyes, blazing with fury, his face purple 


80 


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with rage, his hand upraised as if in violence, he 
started toward her. 

Eleanor rose, waiting for his fury to culminate. She 
spoke no word, made no motion, but her eyes ex- 
pressed more plainly than any words could do her 
fearless scorn and contempt for the man before her. 

Suddenly he stopped: ''You are trying to provoke 
me. You want me to resort to violence, that you may 
have an excuse to leave me. You shall not. Mine you 
arc, and mine you shall remain, but you must not 
continue to provoke me.’’ 

When Eleanor reached her room, the stern restraint 
was loosened, and there arose within her a torrent of 
hate toward her persecutors that shook her soul. Like 
fierce demons it gripped her heart, and wrung and 
tortured it. Lost in the storm, despairing of escape, 
no helping hand outstretched to her, no comforting 
voice, no consoling thought, her aching heart closed 
in despair, shutting out forever, the tender thoughts 
and gentle impulses of girlhood, making her hard, 
making her cold, making her disbelieve in everything 
on earth, and almost in the goodness of God. 


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81 


CHAPTER VII 


'‘Will you put your trotters in, Manning?” asked 
Dr. Bryan, discussing the horse show. 

"Yes, I guess so; Maude is wild about it.” 

"Who will drive?” 

"Either she or I ; she, if she has her way.” 

"How about your black, will you put him in, too?” 

"Well — you know, I don’t own him now,” stam- 
mered Manning. 

"No! I hadn’t heard. Who bought him?” 

"Mrs. Van Buskirk.” 

"Manning, you didn’t do that, did you? How it 
will set the talk going! I’ll bet my head she drives 
him just for impudence.” 

"Well, I’m trying to get her not to.” 

"As well try to keep the devil out of mischief. You 
know she will. Why don’t you break with her? You 
told me when you married, that you intended to live 
straight.” 

"Well, now look here. Doctor, you don’t know Elea- 
nor. She’s the devil to manage, and to tell the truth, 
that’s the reason I came to see you to-day. Fm get- 
ting awfully tired of this kind of thing. I’ll just tell 


83 


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3rou plainly; I want a family, but Eleanor — well, I 
hardly know how to describe her conduct. She never 
says anything, and I don’t know what to think of it, 
but Tm getting discouraged, and I want to see if you 
couldn’t say or do something.” 

‘T, say anything! What can I say? It’s your fault 
if you don’t have children, not Eleanor’s. It’s your 
early life. I told you that you ought not to marry.” 

^‘Oh, such damned nonsense as that won’t go. I 
know that’s not so. It’s Eleanor. She doesn’t want 
them. I’ve promised her everything; to send Maude 
and Eva away; stop Aunt Norton — and the Lord 
knows that ought to influence her, for she hates them 
like poison, and they hate her worse — ^but never a 
word or a promise can I get from her. I thought if 
you would talk to her; tell her how much easier it 
would make her life — she loves you — ^you are the only one 
she does love — she will go through torment for her 
mother, but there’s no love there; just a stern sense 
of duty — but for you, it’s different — ^her face shows it 
when you come near her.” 

^‘Do you love her. Manning?” 

‘*Oh, I love her well enough. I was crazy about 
her at first, and I’m proud of her. She’s the most 
beautiful woman in town; she’s the best dresser, and 
I’m perfectly sure of her virtue — in fact. I’ve seen it 
tested,” and Manning laughed shortly, ‘‘but she’s so 
damned cold. When I talk to her, she is ice. I tell 
you, Doctor, I’d give half I’ve got, if you could put 
some sense into her.” 

Manning was nervous and embarrassed ; he walked 
up and down the room while talking, not noticing the 
took with which the old man followed him. When 
he stopped at last, and looked up, the old man shook 


THE JUDGMENT 


83 


kis head. 'Tt’s no use, Manning, it’s no use, it’s your 
own fault, there won’t be any such thing for you.” 

The horse show soon engaged the attention of social 
New York. Everyone was interested, either in his 
own horses or in those of his friends. 

Manning was a great lover of horses, and for sev- 
eral seasons his had been prominent and successful 
competitors in the horse shows. The beautiful black 
that had won the blue ribbon the previous year was 
his especial pride. Mrs. Van Buskirk, with all his 
other acquaintances, knew this, and she had set her 
heart upon possessing it, desiring the horse no more 
than to display her influence over Manning. He had 
given it to her, and she had determined to drive it 
during the show. She had lately devoted her time to 
trying to gain sufficient control over the tricky big 
black horse to dare to drive him. 

Reared in Manning’s own stables, he was docile 
under his master’s hand, but often unmanageable with 
strangers. 

Extremely unwilling that Mrs. Van Buskirk attempt 
to drive. Manning begged: 'Tf you are determined to 
enter him, Louise, let your man drive. I tell you 
King is unsafe in your hands.” 

'‘You are afraid of the talk, I believe,” she answered. 
'Tf I can stand it, you should be able to.” 

"Perhaps so, but I’d hate to see King kill you. You 
know the horse never liked you, and it was always a 
mystery to me why you should want him. When he 
was a colt, he bit you as you tried to pet him. He is 
not safe for you. I will give you any other horse you 
choose, if you’ll let me have him back. Be reasonable, 
Louise. When you know you can do anything with 


84 


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me, you might give way to my wish in this. Let me 
have King, or at least promise not to drive him next 
week.” 

**rd rather drive that horse than all the others in 
your stable. Everybody knows he is your best and 
your pride. I simply must drive him. I wouldn^t fail 
to do it for the world. Think of the faces of the spec- 
tators!” and Mrs. Van Buskirk’s voice thrilled high 
in amused delight. 

^‘By George, Louise, one would think you had had 
enough said about us, not to court more,” he 
grumbled, unable to share her mirth, but she only 
laughed. Laying her soft white arm around his shoul- 
ders, she rested her face against his, and asked in teas- 
ing seductive tones: '‘Growing faint-hearted, are you, 
dearest? Isn’t it just a little late?” 

Under her spell. Manning always fell, and it was 
not long before he had given his consent. As he 
fastened the glittering diamond bracelet round her 
soft, warm arm, he was laughing with her. He had 
brought it to buy her off from her declared plan of 
driving King in the trotting class, but before he knew 
it, she had persuaded him out of his scruples, as well 
as his bracelet, and into her own reckless disregard of 
consequences. 

Mrs. Norton had not been to the Manning house for 
several days, and when she came, her whole attitude 
and expression seemed to say: "As well tell me what 
you’ve been doing. I’ll find it out anyway.” 

Eva and Maude hastened toward her with assur- 
ances of their pleasure at her coming. 

"Of course you ought to be glad. I’m your best 
friend, but you don’t appreciate what I do. Some day 


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85 


when it is too late, you will find out that I am really 
the only friend you have/' 

Maude asked if she was going to the horse show. 

*'Oh, yes, I will go, everybody goes; besides I have 
heard of something I want to see." 

‘T'm going to drive the bays," Maude boasted. 

‘Ts that so; did Eleanor want to drive them?" 

“No, I guess not, why?" 

“You seem so pleased, I thought you must have 
outwitted her in some way." 

“Oh, no, she doesn't seem to care anything about it. 
William secured the best of the boxes, but I heard 
her say yesterday that she did not care whether she 
went or not." 

“She'll go," remarked Eva. “Madame LaMarquc 
told me that the clothes she had bought for it were 
perfect dreams, and she will go to wear them, and spoil 
the show for the rest of us." 

“William suggested to her to drive or ride, but she 
said she didn't care to appear in public with some 
others who would drive. I know she meant the slur 
for Mrs. Van Buskirk and me," declared Maude. 

“Where is she this morning?" asked Mrs. Norton. 

“Out somewhere with her mother. We are never 
together now. She treats us as if we were the dirt 
under her feet, and Mrs. Howard is so entirely taken 
up with enjoying William's money, that she thinks 
of nothing else." 

“Have you a box. Aunt Norton?" asked Eva. 

“No, I thought I'd sit with you. The good boxes arc 
so high, and I wouldn't have one of the back ones. I 
might as well save the money, and make William pay 
for my seat. He and his father have defrauded me of 
so much, that I can never get even, but I'll save this 


86 


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much, and buy that set of furs IVc been wanting all 
Winter. You can just tell him I expect to sit there. 
Be sure you tell him, Maude.’’ 

‘‘Yes, Aunt Norton,” responded Maude, “I’ll tell 
him.” 

“Well!” Eva said, when Mrs. Norton had gone, “we 
might have known it, we have got her on our hands 
again. The only redeeming feature is that she will 
make it hot for Eleanor, and that whining old mother 
of hers.” 

“But if Aunt Norton is in our box, not a man at the 
show will come about us. She insults everybody within 
half a mile of her.” 

“Well, we must keep her in a good humor, and 
maybe she won’t be so bad this time,” Eva tried to 
encourage her. 

“But you forget Mr. DeWitte will be there, and I 
should die if Aunt Norton said anything to him about 
what happened in his studio ; and if she gets a chance 
she will do it or die. I’d rather miss the show than 
to be in the box with her,” Maude wailed. 

The horse show had opened, and throughout the 
spacious arena at Madison Square Garden, an air of 
festivity prevailed. The boxes were filling rapidly, 
the chatter of the women, mingled with the men’s 
deeper voices in that all-prevading murmur of human- 
ity by which we know that the moment of expectancy 
has arrived. High up among the rafters rang the un- 
restrained laughter of the shrill-voiced “rooter,” wait- 
ing for the opening of the show. The promenade 
was thronged with early arrivals, and the crowd con- 
stantly augmented by newcomers, was greeting and 
being greeted by those already there. Across the tan- 


THE JUDGMENT 


S7 


b&rk hurried the anxious exhibitors, eager for a last 
word to the pompous ring men, who strutted about 
with grandiloquent airs of importance, as if conscious 
of personal responsibility for the success of the whole 
affair. 

Thousands of lights shone radiantly across to the 
other thousands, returning their bright gleam; lights, 
were everywhere; expectancy was everywhere; the 
past was forgotten; they were living in the present. 
The show was on. 

The judges came to their stand. The boxes were 
filling. The people already filled the lesser seats. 
Hundreds of diamonds winked back at the sparkling 
lights. Fans fluttered. Smiling faces bent in saluta- 
tion to friends in near-by boxes. The world and his 
wife — his numerous wives, were there like human but- 
terflies, sporting in the breezes of the summertime of 
life. 

The tanbark cleared, and the master of ceremonies 
awaited the coming of the high-stepping steeds and 
their higher-living masters. 

The Manning box was advantageously placed, 
nearly opposite the judges’ stand. It was large and 
spacious, but there were few vacant chairs. 

Mrs. Norton was gowned in soft lustrous black vel- 
vet. The heavy folds hung ’round her like her own 
dark thoughts. Across her chair lay the exquisite 
furs purchased through her economical forethought re- 
garding the box. She sat in upright acidity beside her 
patient husband. His fat face, though not carefree, 
wore the meek expression of the habitual peacemaker. 
Afraid to smile openly, for fear of being misunder- 
stood, he cast furtively deprecating glances at his 
wife’s alert face and bright darting eyes, searching for 


88 


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a convenient victim. Mrs. Gordon-Leigh and her 
sister, Mildred, sat beside them, chatting with the old 
man, who would have enjoyed their gay talk but for 
the dread of his wife's criticisms. “Just so, just so, 
he! he! he!" he chuckled, responsive to Mildred's 
remark that the horses would soon come on. His 
wife turned: “What's so funny about that, John?" 
she demanded. “A-h, nothing, my dear, I was only 
thinking how nice, er — that it — did not snow," his face 
straightening like a small boy detected in a forbidden 
joy. As Mildred giggled, the old man cast at her a 
pleading look. 

Dr. Bryan sat by Eleanor; her mother on her other 
side. Manning's chair was vacant. He was below 
with his horses. Eva sat at Mrs. Gordon-Leigh's side ; 
her face painstakingly enameled, and if her nose was 
more rosy than when she left the hands of the expert 
masseuse, she was not yet aware of it. 

No living woman was ever absolutely unconscious 
^ of her own beauty, though she may possess the great 
charm of seeming to be, and Eleanor noted the stir 
her appearance created; the craning of necks and the 
half audible remarks on every side. 

In Mrs. Overton's box, immediately to the left of 
Manning's, was a large party of her friends. They 
were laughing gaily as the Manning party came in. 
Beyond the Overton box, Mrs. Van Buskirk held her 
court with two women, who served as good foils to 
her striking brunette beauty. She made a glittering 
spot, visible throughout the crowded space. Her 
dress was black, but so far from somber that one lost 
sight of the dark hue in the sparkling brightness of 
the whole. She was like a scintillating black diamond, 
from her throat to her trailing skirt. Her lace robe, 


THE JUDGMENT 


89 


a glittering spangle of jet; at each turn of her lithe 
body the facets shone brightly ; even her steady 
breathing, gently moving the soft lace above her 
breast, made an ever moving radiance, until the eye 
was dazzled. Her black hair was surmounted by an 
immense picture hat of black lace and long, loose 
plumes that reached back, and swept her shoulders. 
‘‘An exquisite picture in an ebony frame,^^ remarked 
Bobby Van Arsdale, as she took her seat beside him. 

With the three women sat seventeen men; young, 
middle-aged and old, but to-night there was, strange 
to say, among them no married ones, for few men 
dared attend the horse show with Mrs. Van Buskirk, 
if their wives were there to see. 

Van Arsdale leaned across to William Ellis, sitting 
a little behind him: “Nice of Manning to get this box 
for us, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, he’s growing sporty again. He has nine 
horses on the tanbark, and I don’t know how many 
thousand dollars in boxes. Have you seen his wife? 
She’s a beauty, and can’t she hold her head. She’s 
a wonder all right.” 

“You bet she is,” answered Bobby, “and perfectly 
straight, too.” 

“Oh, yes, too straight. Lots of us wish she wasn’t,” 
laughed Ellis. 

Soon the eager cry was heard: “They are coming, 
look, look, oh, look!” and up above, the loud-voiced 
rooters made audible their admiration. 

“Gee, see the black! Oh, the bay’s the winner! 
See how she steps. Ain’t she a bird !” 

Leaning from the boxes they watched ; conversation 
languished, eyes were more alive, for interest in the 
horses was awake. 


90 


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In they came, amid a burst of music from the hidden 
band that until now had sent forth subdued strains. 
The horses pranced 'round the ring, their arched necks 
and daintily lifted feet indicating their high breeding. 

'Round and 'round they went, their nostrils dilating, 
their tossing heads held proudly, while every now and 
then a triumphant neigh proclaimed the self-esteem of 
some equine aristocrat. 

Women leaned from their boxes, and clapped their 
white gloved hands in praise of favorites capering 
below. 

'‘Watch the Sloan bay. He’s a sure winner." Bobby 
tapped Mrs. Van Buskirk familiarly on the arm. 

'T don’t believe it, I am betting on the chestnut 
sorrel.” 

"Ha! ha! you may choose men, but you can't 
choose horses," teased Bobby. "Save your money to 
back a better one." 

"Well, I’ll wager a hundred that my black wins the 
blue ribbon when his class is called." 

"Your black! Oh, now, since when?" 

"Well, never mind the when, the where or why," 
she laughed, "he’s mine now, all right, and you’ll see 
his proud head crowned with the blue when the judges 
call the award." 

"Damned bold about it," Ellis whispered. 

Then came the hackneys. Like clockwork one class 
followed the other. Scarcely had the horses reached 
the gate, before the next class came thronging in. 

In the tandem event Maud Manning drove superbly 
’round the arena a handsome pair of bays. Out of 
eleven entries in this class, the Manning pair easily 
ranked first, and the trophy was hers. As she sat 
erect in her seat, her tailor-made gown displayed her 


THE JUDGMENT 


91 


good points, disguised her poor ones, and made her 
almost handsome. Her eyes flashed in happy pride, 
as the magnificent pair was reviewed, and the trophy 
awarded. 

Then came the coaches, heralded by bugle calls. 
'Round the tanbark they went, an oldtime coaching 
print embodied into modern life and action. Here 
was such a well matched four as we rarely see ; bright 
bays, leaders and wheelers alike in appearance and 
action. Next them moved another team, black as 
night, to a coach of bright magenta, a striking sight. 
The horses moved together in splendid style, but the 
judges' critical taste barred them out on account of the 
loud color note. Then came Manning's snow white coach, 
tooled by himself. It awoke loud applause, as it swung 
'round the ring automaton like, under the touch of 
their master's hands. '‘Yes, yes, the trophy is his!" 
The crowd of men in his coach cheered lustily as they 
left the ring, the bugler sounded his loud triumphant 
note, and amid the waving of thousands of handker- 
chiefs, round after round of resounding applause, the 
horses tossed their proud heads, and again sped 'round 
the ring and out the gates. 

Mrs. Van Buskirk had left her box to drive the cap- 
tious black horse, restlessly champing his bits below. 
The last event was called, and into the ring, the horses 
came again. Bays, chestnuts and grays, with here 
and there a darker horse. Conspicuous among them, 
the big black horse to the pronounced stanhope, in 
which sat the beautiful woman, handling the ribbons 
with debonair grace. 

From the boxes the remarks came openly: "Did any- 
one ever hear of anything so bold 1" "It is Manning's 
big black, entered as her own!" "Heavens! that's 


92 


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flagrant!’’ “How will they accept this?” Meaning 
glances flashed from box to box, as the stanhope and 
its occupant passed down the arena. 

“Shameless!” hissed old Mrs. Norton, eager of 
voice, and loud enough for all to hear. She turned to 
Eleanor: “Poor child, to have this shown so openly. 
No wonder you couldn’t enjoy the show. Too bad! 
Too bad ! I shall certainly speak to William.” 

Eleanor struggled for composure, as for a moment 
she turned on her tormentor scornful eyes, then shift- 
ing them, as if she would forget Mrs. Norton’s words, 
together with her existence, began to talk to Mrs. 
Gordon-Leigh. 

Suddenly someone cried out shrilly from a box 
far down the line. The black horse had become un- 
ruly. A careless driver had scraped a wheel, making 
him break and begin to plunge. He reared and pawed 
the air ; then, at the unfamiliar touch of the whip, with 
which his driver desperately tried to quiet him, he 
snorted in rage, and broke from her control, the lines 
hanging loose, where he had snatched them from her 
hands. 

Women screamed, leaning from their boxes, and 
men’s faces began to blanch; grooms tried to bar the 
way, but the maddened horse rushed past them. The 
woman clung wildly to the rail of the vehicle, her face 
white with terror. The other entries in the event 
rushed out of the way of the plunging, uncontrollable 
animal. 

Manning, seeing the danger, rushed down into the 
ring, calling out — “King! King! Stop, stop!” and the 
horse, quivering in every limb, allowed his master to 
take him by the bridle. 

“Get down, Louise, I’ll hold him. This comes of 



"‘King, King, Stop, SiopK 





















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93 


your stubbornness/^ cried Manning, so excited that 
he called her by her name. Assisted by the grooms 
and the crowd of men that now invaded the tanbark, 
Mrs. Van Buskirk left the ring, and began a pitiful 
struggle to regain the mastery of herself, and to cover 
her mortification. 

King was still unquieted, and would allow no hand 
to touch him but Manning’s, who was, therefore, 
obliged to lead him from the ring, and the show broke 
up in general confusion and excitement. 

‘'Oh, let’s get out!” wailed Mrs. Howard, anxious 
to escape the inquisitive eyes and remarks leveled at 
them. 

“Wasn’t is awful, Mrs. Manning?” queried Mrs. 
Overton, determined to hear Eleanor’s voice, while 
the incident still lived. 

“Yes, certainly exciting, but not so awful as if some 
one had been injured,” Eleanor answered. 

“How noble of your husband to risk his life,” cooed 
Mrs. Sloan-Webb. 

“Yes,” answered Eleanor, “you know Mr. Manning 
previously owned the horse, and it was easy for him to 
manage it.” 

Down at Sherry’s, at every table, Mrs. Van Bus- 
kirk’s spectacular deliverance by Manning was the 
theme of gossip. 

Bobby asked Will Ellis: “Did you see Van Buskirk? 
He was near the entrance, as she went out. He was 
full anyway, and the look he gave her wasn’t pleasant, 
I can tell you.” 

“No, Bobby, he has looked ugly for some time, and 
somebody will get in trouble yet. Lord! wasn’t Mrs. 
Manning cold and stiff? Wouldn’t she be a wonder 
if she had any feeling in her? With all her beauty, her 


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heart is so cold that no one can interest her. Woolda’t it 
be great to see her wake up 5^’ 

‘T tell you, Ellis, she is not dead, she will wake up 
yet, some day, and show a heart that is warm enough, 
and don’t you forget it.” 

‘‘Do you think Mrs. Van’s circus trick to-night will 
bring it about?” 

“Can’t tell about that, but I’ll bet Mrs. Van is done 
for this time* You’ll see that from now on she will 
be numbered among the ‘caught.’ ” 


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96 


CHAPTER VIII 


The great rooms of the Loan Exhibition of Paint- 
ings, at the Union League Club, were filled with a 
babbling, tea-sipping, weary-eyed crowd. From the 
walls, sombre and grave portraitures gazed down upon 
the throng. 

Upstairs there was more room. There hung old 
masterpieces mingled with specimens of the shriek- 
ing modern paintings now invading the realms of art. 

Every now and then above the general hum was 
heard the eager voice of a new devotee expounding art, 
all unconscious that in her ardor, her young knowl- 
edge shone out like fresh varnish. 

‘‘S-sh-sh! Listen! this is funny,” giggled Mildred 
Leigh to Bobby, as fragments of a nearby conversation 
floated to them. 

'Tt reminds me of a beautiful statue I saw at the 
Louvre on my last visit to Paris,” declared a richly 
attired matron, her jeweled lorgnette lifted as she 
scanned a canvas, where was represented that well- 
known struggling form unwillingly sinking into 
death’s cold embrace. '‘Yes, it is surely the same,” 
the shrill voice declared, "but I saw it in marble at 
Paris. It is called 'The Dying Gladiolus.’ I like it 
almost as well as another one called 'Apollo with the 
Devil’s Ears,’” and unconscious of the spasms of 


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mirth behind her, the new millionairess passed on fur- 
ther in quest of pleasure. 

"'That reminds me,’’ said Van Arsdale, ^‘of a story 
Ellis told at the club last night. He went that morn- 
ing for a ride with Miss Austin, whose father made 
such a sudden fortune in sugar last Winter. She kept 
him waiting, but Mrs. Austin entertained him — vastly, 
too, from his account. Explaining to him the cause of 
her daughter’s delayed appearance, she said: ‘Oh! it 
is too bad that Annie is late for her ride, but she was 
up so late last night, and when you came she was still 
in the arms of Bacchus.’ Ellis assured her of his full 
appreciation of the situation, and begged Mrs. Austin 
to allow the girl her time.” 

Two canvases hanging together attracted the at- 
tention of the gay group. Ranch scenes in Texas rep- 
resenting the annual Spring round-up of the herd. 

The two paintings were palpitant with life. In one, 
the cattle crowded together in the center an almost 
indistinguishable mass of color and form, with now 
and again a lifted head waving angry defiance at 
man’s restraint. On the confines of the herd, the ani- 
mals could be more plainly seen ; one moving slowly along 
with indifferent serenity following his leader to un- 
thinking doom, while by his side another reared his 
angry head, shook his horns, his glaring eyes and ex- 
panded nostrils expressing unwilling recognition of 
man’s compelling force. Toward the left corner, a 
red steer pawed the dust, sending it skyward; his 
lowered head and sullen posture showing his wi.sh to 
incite the herd to outbreak. Toward the disturbing ele- 
ment two cowboys dashed. The small lithe ponies 
stretched their limbs in that sweeping gait known 
only to the prairies; one rider, his bridle hanging on 


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97 


his horse’s neck, shouting a warning to the molester. 
You could almost hear his: ‘‘Hi-ee!” as he waved 
his broad-brimmed hat ; the hanging noose of rope 
trailed behind him. His feet in the stirrups raised him 
from the saddle as the horse came on. His fringed 
leather leggings were stiff from exposure and age, 
and his brown flannel shirt was open at the neck, 
around which was knotted a big red handkerchief, its 
brightness emphasizing the tan of his face and throat. 
His smiling face showed no touch of care or sorrow; 
an untroubled child of Nature, set in his native realm, 
happy and free as the wind, asking nothing but his 
steed and life and action. 

The companion picture gave another glimpse into 
this prairie life. The whole angry herd aroused, had 
broken from the men’s control. On they thundered, 
led by the belligerent red steer, which pawed the 
earth in the other picture. His head was outstretched 
in the pride of his evil conquest, and in wild abandon 
of unrestraint he led the maddened thundering herd 
from the grasp of the outdistanced cowboys, racing 
behind them in a wild endeavor to overtake and turn 
the stampeded cattle. 

In both pictures lay the level green prairie; the 
same golden sunshine poured down. The same violet 
shaded haze stretched far and wide, and over all, the 
deep blue sky bent its unbroken dome, unflecked by 
the passing fret of a single cloud. The two pictures, 
“Control” and “Unrestraint,” breathed from the can- 
vas great lessons, and before them, even the frivolous 
group were momentarily quiet ; a few of them through 
admiration of the wonderful paintings, still fewer be- 
cause they grasped the lessons taught, and the rest 
silent because the others were silent. 


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“What is the attraction down there, I wonder,” 
cried Robert Van Arsdale, and as they turned to look, 
he added, “Let's go and see.” 

As they neared a new canvas, Mrs. Gordon-Leigh 
exclaimed, “Mrs. Manning's portrait ! It is DeWitte's 
new painting, and marvellously beautiful !” 

Surely the judges had meant to place the painting 
advantageously, for the warm light fell upon it with 
a soft caress, as if even it loved the beauty of the pic- 
ture. Like a lovely human soul bared to the inquisi- 
tive gaze of the world, the pictured woman stood, her 
face half raised, her eager eyes unconscious of their 
beauty; setting her apart, above and beyond the gap- 
ing crowd, who all unable to reach her soul could but 
stand and gaze, criticise and cavil at this unexpected 
glimpse of a woman's living, loving, throbbing heart. 

As a man behind her caught his breath with a quick 
little sound, Mildred Gordon-Leigh turned to him with 
a spiteful laugh: “Would you recognize her?” she 
asked, mockingly. “Have you seen her look like this, 
or does she keep this happy face for the handsome 
painter alone?” 

Half a dozen women joined in the amusement that 
this sally provoked, until Dr. Bryan remarked in a 
half tone to his neighbor: “I discover the unpardonable 
sin. It is to combine with beauty the lost art of vir- 
tuous womanhood.” 

Another woman asked: “Do you think Mr. Manning 
will follow the example of Mr. Rochester, who last 
Winter had his wife's portrait painted by this same re- 
markable gentleman with the faculty of unearthing 
hidden and unexpected beauty? When he saw the 
result of Mr. DeWitte's labor, he cried, 'A beautiful 
picture, but certainly not my wife.' T'm sorry you 


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99 


do not consider the likeness good/ DeWitte answered. 
'No, it is not my wife,’ the husband reiterated, 'and 
I hardly like to pay so much for a portrait which 
does not please me.’ Then followed the suggestion 
that the painter reduce his price, at which, to show his 
scorn, Mr. DeWitte picked up a knife and deliberately 
slashed the picture into ribbons.” 

Here Mildred Gordon-Leigh’s insulting laugh broke 
in on the recital: "Did you inquire if Mr. DeWitte 
would treat this painting with like indignity? Ha! ha! 
ha! ha!” ‘ 

In her amusement she did not notice the look of 
confusion that had spread over the group until she 
glanced up to meet Eleanor’s scornful smile. 

She was truly not like the picture now, as she 
swept the faces of the group with her scornful glance, 
until it fell on Dr. Bryan, whose blaze-lit eyes seemed 
to scorch with fury the spiteful woman as she made 
her laughing jest, then to her soul a sweet voice whis- 
pered : "My good, true friend.” 

Just as Eleanor halted, Mrs. Norton and Maude 
came up. The old woman raised her harsh voice 
with cruel distinctness as she asked of Eleanor: "Have 
you come, my dear, to see the wonderful painting so 
few can recognize? Is there indeed within you that 
feeling which the painter declares so boldly to have 
found? Are you not guilty of unkindness in hiding 
such sweetness from us, to lavish on one what all 
might love to see?” 

At the words, Eleanor’s face hardened with cold 
disdain. The bitter notes that had found a home in 
her oldtime happy laughter blighted it as she replied: 
"No, you are right; there is in me no likeness to this 
painting. Surely the look which excites you all to 


100 


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mirth is but a touch of fanciful imagery on the part 
of the creator of this unknown woman. It is impos- 
sible to imagine myself looking like that painting, sur- 
rounded as I am, for is there anywhere among the 
people we know, a single face that does not bear 
traces of the scars left by contact with envy, hatred 
and greed?’’ 

‘‘Hush, Eleanor, for God’s sake, don’t rouse her,” 
Dr. Bryan whispered. 

“Ah, indeed, you surprise me by exhibiting such 
intense resentment at the mere suspicion of an un- 
suspected happiness; the boon we all so fondly crave. 
My friends, ’tis truly said that ‘Wonders never 
cease.’ ” 

Mrs. Norton had gained her point; had provoked 
Eleanor into a show of resentment at the comment 
raised by the unwonted look upon her pictured face, 
and in the joy of it, she laughed cruelly. 

The Sunday morning following found Eleanor in 
the generally unoccupied Manning pew in the magnifi- 
cent church. Just before the organ’s first deep note 
was heard, then with the increasing louder swelling 
music, up the center aisle began to move the chant- 
ing choir. 

On they came, the sweet childish voices of the 
well-trained choristers answering and mingling with 
the solemn notes of the organ in a grand processional 
hymn. 

The white-robed choir passed her pew, took their 
places, and the service began. 

The wonderful music thrilled her! Her throbbing 
heart repeated, and over again assured her: “Here is 
rest. Here is peace. Here inside the sacred pale of 


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101 


God’s Church is a haven of comfort. Rest in peace, 
sad heart ; lift up your drooping head ; hearken to the 
sweet message of love. Be of good cheer. The tremb- 
ling rainbow of promise begins to tint your clouded 
sky. With God’s almighty hand outstretched to aid 
you, earthly sorrows fall behind. He can uphold, up- 
lift, and bear you onward, ’till beyond their reach you 
sing with that invisible chorus, join your feeble 
trembling human voice to that never ceasing, ever swell- 
ing joy-filled gloria that shall echo down the ages, declar- 
ing God’s love and mercy to redeem humanity.” 

What the clergyman said, Eleanor never knew. He 
stood in the pulpit, his palely interesting face gleam- 
ing in the subdued light that fell through the stained 
windows. His white hands and graceful gestures ac- 
centuated his priestly form, clad in his snowy vest- 
ments as he delivered his careful and well-phrased 
sermon. 

Behind his scholarly figure, another shone, and from 
the pictured face in the window there seemed to 
radiate that wondrous peace past man’s understand- 
ing, toward which we turn our eager hearts, to find 
an all abounding glory when once we really desire 
to find it. “Come unto me, all ye that are heavy 
laden,” ran the illuminated text around the window 
wherein the picture lay, and the gentle face seemed 
to repeat the message: “If ye yearn for love, if ye yearn 
for peace, if the waves of the world beat hard upon you, 
carrying you far out to the treacherous ocean of sin; 
then turn to me. If ye can but lift your eyes, lift 
them now to me. Arouse your fainting heart to 
longing for the peace and love I bring. Believe in 
me; I know your sorrow, I know your pain, I know 
your heart-ache, I know your woe. I have felt them 


102 THE JUDGMENT 

all, but I can refresh you, I can save you, I can — I 
will redeem.” 

Again the organ spoke, and the acolyte in his scar- 
let robe lifted high the golden cross, the sign of man’s 
redemption, and following it down the aisle slowly 
came the chanting choir. The upraised golden cross 
advanced, and in the light of it, the suffering woman 
lost sight of its bearer. ‘‘J^st the cross!” she 
breathed, “help me, help me, help me.” Nearer, 
nearer still came the cross, shining radiant and golden. 
Eleanor sank to her knees, her eyes fixed on it em- 
bedded in a radiant halo, symbolic of its saving grace. 
On her knees, sobs shook her slender form, struggle 
against them as she would. “Save me, O, Lord, in 
my dire extremity. Be to me the friend I need. Teach 
me, lead me, I will cling to thee,” she prayed. 

“Yes, I will see him at once,” she decided on the 
swift homeward drive. “Surely, he, the man of God, 
can help advise and strengthen my faltering feet.” 

For months past it had seemed plain that a separa- 
tion from her husband must surely come. “You will 
lose every friend, reputation, money, position, all ; oh ! 
I had rather die,” her mother wailed at each fresh 
outbreak. “I beg you to stand it until I am dead,” 
she insisted, “let me die in peace,” until her 
daughter’s heart was torn anew between her out- 
raged womanhood and her desire to care for, protect 
and defend the helpless parent dependent upon her. 

As Ralph Whittington, the stately rector of St. 
John’s, rang the door bell at the Manning home, he 
inwardly wondered if he could creditably extricate 
himself from this unpleasant position. 

The social world soon learns to understand the 
circumstances of its various members, and few are 


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103 


possessed of more thorough knowledge than the rec- 
tors of the churches. The divorces, scandals, feuds 
and estrangements with which we engage ourselves, 
are to him an old story, often told, and to maintain a 
sure foothold on the slippery paths of popular favor, 
steering clear of the breakers of partiality, is an under- 
taking worthy of Machiavelian strategy. This was 
Dr. Whittington’s pride ; invariably, to give each sup- 
pliant for the support of his priestly influence an un- 
incriminating answer; keeping his own skirts clear. 
It is quite a task sometimes. 

He understood the Manning situation with its many 
complications. Mrs. Norton’s deep-rooted animosity, 
the equally bitter resentment of the Manning sisters. 
Manning’s well-known connection with Mrs. Van 
Buskirk — daily growing more flagrant — his insulting 
ill treatment of his well nigh friendless wife, whose 
silly, weak and selfish mother hung to her, an irre- 
movable incubus. He knew it all, and since Eleanor’s 
message of yesterday reached him, he had carefully 
reviewed the ground, going over the resources of 
each. 

‘T cannot offend the Nortons. The old woman is 
stingy, but their contributions would be seriously 
missed. The Manning girls have little to give besides 
what their brother allows them, but to turn them and 
his valuable influence against me would be ridicu- 
lously foolish. No, my advice to Mrs. Manning must 
be of the most conservative kind. Indeed, she must 
at all hazards be influenced against an outbreak. But 
I will accomplish it without incurring her dislike,’^ 
and it was with the comfort of an unusual self assur- 
ance that he rang the bell. 

She did not keep him waiting. Instead,, she was 


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eagerly waiting for his coming, and greeted him in her 
private sitting-room. His pale face was filled with 
unctuous grace as he held her hand a short moment, 
murmuring: 'T trust I find you very well, as well as 
very happy.’’ 

'Tt is because I am not, that I have sent for you,” 
she answ^ered with her oldtime straightforwardness. 
Then she told him her story. The long recital of the 
woes heaviest to womanhood came in a torrent of 
heartbreaking words, with finally an appeal for guid- 
ance, a quavering cry for help. Could it be that he 
heard her aright? Did he indeed feel no more than 
the polite mask, with which he shielded his inward 
thoughts indicated, remaining all unmoved at the piti- 
ful tale of suflfering? At last he broke the silence: 
'‘You have, dear Mrs. Manning, allowed yourself to 
become excited. Your mind is overwrought. I am 
sure you will to-morrow see the mistake of the step 
you would take to-day,” his softly modulated voice 
reiterated, after a careful recital of his narrow com- 
monplace views. 

'‘You mean I should continue to bear it all?” she 
asked, in blank surprise at the lack of responsiveness 
he showed. 

"My dear lady,” he began again, "look about you. 
Here on every side behold the lavishness of the love 
with which your husband surrounds you. You doubt- 
less misunderstand him. Can you not by your love 
and tenderness draw him back to you? You must 
try. You must bear the slight neglect, overlook all 
jealousy, forego suspicion, cultivate love, turn to him 
the other cheek if perchance he smite you. You speak 
of divorce; it would be the greatest folly, and besides 
the tide is against it. Look at the widespread storm 


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105 


the very word brings forth. No, no, you must forego 
the thought.'' How much more he said, Eleanor 
could not remember. 

‘Ts this your peace?" she hotly cried. 'Ts this your 
comfort? Is this the shelter you offer to sin-sick and 
suffering humanity? Your church condemns divorce, 
you say, yes, it is against the tenets of your faith, 
but a divorce is still a legal thing, as lawful as this, 
legalized slavery; this so-called marriage in which 
every fibre of womanhood is outraged, insulted and 
disgraced, where every day and every hour is a long 
drawn hell of miserable atonement for the ignorant 
sin of having taken that impossible vow to love and 
honor a pitiful wretch, to know whom is but to hate and 
despise. You recommend that I willingly continue 
my servitude, consent to this unceasing butchery of 
every finer feeling; that I withhold not my cheek to 
the smiter's hand, Have you tried it? I ask you, can 
you tell how it is done? Can you impart the power 
to smile when you receive the cruel cuts of the social 
knout? I have asked you for help, asked you for 
succor, asked you for support, and you tell me — ‘Go 
back to my slavery, to learn under the lash to bless the 
hand that wields it.' Then take your advice and go. 
Give to another form of being this Christian help of 
which you prate. As well tell the starving, thirsting 
hind to turn away from the cooling forest stream as 
to say to me: ‘Enjoy your servitude, turn back from 
your thought of freedom,' for I tell you now, I reject 
your advice, I turn with all my suffering heart from 
your temporizing phrases, which you call the comfort 
of the Church. Since this hope fails me, I will remain 
as I am until deliverance comes; then if it comes, 
even though the hand outstretched to me shall reek 


106 


THE JUDGMENT 


of blood or shall horrify the senses with the stench 
of scandal, if it does all this and more, I will blind 
my eyes to its repulsiveness, and gladly, yes, joyfully 
accept it/’ 


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107 


CHAPTER IX 


The guests of Mrs. Overton’s ''Week End” were 
arriving at the handsome country home, her latest 
extravagance. 

"I am glad to see them all, but I want to have ? 
good time, too, and I can’t if I have to stay in the 
house and wait for them,” she explained, as she strolled 
over the green stretches of the golf links, here and there 
dotted with bright-hued players. 

Mrs. Overton did not often play, but the links made 
entertaining easy and reduced the daytime, part of it, 
to a minimum. 

The noisy throbbing of a large automobile was 
heard, and the machine soon came into view laden 
with a laughing crowd. As they descended at the 
door, Mrs. Van Buskirk cried: "This is modern life 
with a vengeance. No hostess, no welcome, no hand- 
shake ; let’s all go in anyway, and make believe we 
like it.” 

From her vantage ground in the pretty rustic summer- 
house, Mrs. Overton’s companion observed to her: "I 
see Mrs. Van Buskirk has come. Now things will 
happen,” and they did. 

Most of the group had assembled in the drawing- 
room, awaiting the announcement of dinner, when 
Mrs. Van Buskirk made her appearance. Her beauty 


108 


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had rarely been better displayed than by the geranium 
pink velvet gown falling in exquisite lines from its 
embrace of her very bare neck and shoulders. Across 
her bosom a slight drapery of lace was thinly spread, 
and a slender chain of diamonds in lieu of shoulder 
straps ran across the glowing flesh. Her dark hair 
was gathered high, and her smiling face typified 
youth, health and passionately enjoyed happiness. 

Mrs. Overton liked Mrs. Van Buskirk. ‘‘She is 
sure to entertain herself and you,’’ she explained. Mrs. 
Van Buskirk may or may not have noted the frigidity 
which her coming cast over the group of women 
standing together. If she noticed it, her laughter was 
just as gay, her anecdotes as witty as if she knew her- 
self to be the most appreciated guest. At the rather 
boisterous laughter from the group surrounding her, 
glances were exchanged and a woman said in a half- 
audible voice: “It seems to me I’d like to be a trifle 
less visibly delighted.” 

“Then it is a fact that the Manning divorce will be?” 

“Mrs. Van Buskirk acts like it,” returned the first 
speaker. 

“I can’t understand such effrontery, at least before- 
hand.” 

The crowd must have been waiting for Mrs. Ross- 
Scott’s fiat, as to Mrs. Van Buskirk’s social fate, for 
when she passed her coldly by, no woman in the house 
dared support her when Mrs. Ross-Scott intimated 
support and recognition should be withheld. In this 
case, she spared no pains to express her disapproval 
of the presence of the beautiful participant in the 
horse show festivities. 

During the course of the dinner, snatches of talk 
could be heard, with every now and then expressions 


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109 


of astonishing candor such as would have brought a 
blush to the unsophisticated, if such an one were there. 
Mrs. Overton was far too experienced and wise a 
hostess to bring together alien spirits, and no one 
blushed. 

Mrs. Van Buskirk saw the growing coldness, but 
her face showed no sign of it, and her laughter and 
wit were almost feverish. The men on either side of 
her were openly delighted, and indeed the rest of 
them all down the line of the table were so evidently 
entertained and interested, that to bring them back to 
their proper senses, the female members of the party 
must assume more virtuous austerity. When at the 
close of the dinner they filed back to the drawing- 
rooms, leaving the gentlemen to the wines and cigars, 
each man followed the gorgeous figure in the low cut 
pink velvet gown, the last to disappear, with that 
undisguised admiration, to some women acceptable, 
to some others, insult. 

'‘Jove! She carried it high,’’ cried Robert Van Ars- 
dale, as the door closed. 

‘'Yes, she made a hit here, but in there — oh. Lord! — 
when they are done with her.” 

The following morning, when the golf links had re- 
duced the crowd to half its size, and bridge tables 
were engaging the others, Mrs. Van Buskirk realized 
that these few days among her erstwhile friends would 
likely serve to determine her future fate, and, almost 
desperate at the enforced knowledge, she grew excited 
and unwise. 

The bridge players did not want her; that was evi- 
dent. No one invited her to share her favorite game, 
eagerly as she desired it, and when wandering through 
the rooms, the reception accorded her was not the 


110 


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most inspiring. The golf links held no fascination for 
her; besides, the outside wind was cold, and her feet 
far prettier in dainty slippers than in stout walking 
shoes. ^'Shall I fail to profit out of this visit?’’ she 
asked herself, angrily, thinking of the bridge game in 
progress without her. 

Not until evening did her time come again. She 
made her appearance clad in a gorgeous gown of 
orange-hued satin overhung with thin chiffon soften- 
ing and subduing the shine of the underctress, a few 
touches of soft, brown fur adding the darker notes. 
Always exceptionally decollete, to-night Mrs. Van 
Buskirk excelled herself, and her beautiful arms and 
shoulders excited wonder and admiration among her 
fellow guests. She wore rubies on her white breast, 
and the glittering jewels flashed and shone with life- 
like lustre as if tinged with the rich, red blood en- 
livening their wearer. Yellow; the daring color whose 
very wearing is a challenge when tinted to that shade. 
When a woman dons it, she has either passed the 
boundaries of prudence, or else she feels secure in the 
omnipotence of beauty. 

A few minutes before the announcement of dinner, 
the drawing-room was the scene of the meeting of 
the members of the house party. 

An awkward young millionairess, her coronet still 
unfamiliar to her head, stood talking to Mrs. Gordon- 
Leigh and Mildred. Near them De Witte faced the 
door, a curious little smile upon his handsome face. 
They attempted to draw him into their conversation, 
but of late the popular painter had grown quite indif- 
ferent to the burdensome adulation so generally be- 
stowed, and to his face had come new lines. Em- 
boldened by the confidence of pre-eminence bestowed 


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111 


by great wealth, the rich young lady playfully re- 
marked to him: ''You must be proud of the stir 
created by your lovely painting, Mr. DeWitte.’’ But 
being a newcomer into the regions of society, she 
was unable to appreciate the stir she had caused, by 
her chance reference to the now well-known painting. 
An angry flash came into DeWitte’s eyes, and he 
turned to the girl as though he would annihilate her 
for her unlucky remark coming at just the wrong 
time, for Eleanor and her husband were by now well 
within earshot of them. 

A titter from the listening women followed Miss 
De Smythe’s luckless reference, but the amusement 
of the women and the man's resentment only be- 
wildered her, who, anxious to please, turned to Mrs. 
Gordon-Leigh, and helplessly appealed: "What have 
I done?" 

Manning sought Mrs. Van Buskirk's side, and his 
black eyes roved admiringly over the handsome pic- 
ture she made, greeting him with pleased animation. 

Eleanor knew that she had made few friends in 
this alien social world, and the knowledge had in- 
creased her air of aloofness, until she was almost an- 
tagonistic in her attitude. Always proud and reserved, 
she had now become cold and hardened in her estimates 
of mankind. 

"Your sister's gowns are a continual revelation, 
Maude," whispered Mrs. Gordon-Leigh, and indeed 
it was true of Eleanor. She was draped in soft creamy 
toned lace that fell in foamy billows to the floor. The 
bodice was of embroidery, and just escaped being yel- 
low, while suggesting that vivid hue. The lace of 
the gown was priceless with exquisitely wrought 
golden embroidery. She wore a tiara of emeralds in- 


112 


THE JUDGMENT 


terspersed with diamonds. The same gems shone on 
her neck and arms, and to a string of pearls around 
her neck was suspended a tiny fan, sparkling with 
the same bright stones. 

As Manning left her standing beside her mother, 
to join Mrs. Van Buskirk, Mrs. Ross-Scott turned to 
Mrs. Williamson, and remarked: ''No light touches 
for him ; you see, he admires and seeks the heavier 
tones. Strange that even in dress to-night they should 
be rivals, and that the faint yellow tints of the wife’s 
dress should be outdone by the overflow of the same 
color with which her victorious rival bedecks her- 
self. Mark me, this scene typifies the final result.” 
Her companion whispered in a half pitying tone : 
"How sad for the poor young thing; but she does 
look rather cold, doesn’t she, and to the victors be- 
long the spoils.” And as nothing succeeds like suc- 
cess, Mrs. Van Buskirk felt her spirits rise, and 
showed her pleasure at Manning’s arrival, and from 
the glances following them after he joined her, she 
gathered future acknowledgments of her victory. 

"Oh, Will! I am so glad you have come, I have been 
wild to see you all day,” she exclaimed. "Come right 
over here, and tell me all the news, and what you have 
been doing.” She held him until the dinner was an- 
nounced, and as the meal progressed, indulged so 
freely in the wines, that towards the end it was plainly 
seen that she was becoming intoxicated. In her ex- 
citement and exhilaration, her glances at Manning and 
her remarks to him were too plainly eloquent of mean- 
ing to be overlooked. He was, happily for her, more 
drunk than she, and neither of them seemed to notice 
the stir their conduct made. 

"Heaven help her 1” groaned DeWitte, with cov- 


THE JUDGMENT 


113 


crt glances at Eleanor’s face. ^‘How can she bear it 
— I would give my soul to gain happiness for her — 
while he, who has the right, does— this.” 

Mrs. Van Buskirk had overdone the thing this time, 
and there was no mistaking the fact, from the rigid 
and determined way in which the women of the party 
withdrew themselves from her at the dance which fol- 
lowed. It was not, therefore, for her, the brilliant 
success for which she had hoped, when Manning’s 
desertion of his wife had in imagination sounded her 
triumphant march to victory. 

Hating Eleanor as she did, she had promised her- 
self the pleasure of coupling the ignominy of the 
divorce, upon which Manning had now almost de- 
cided, with the scandal of an intrigue with DeWitte, 
for she said in no other way could she fully repay her- 
self for Eleanor’s undisguised contempt. 

But contrary to her proud expectations, the moment 
of her humiliation was near. Most of the women of 
the party followed Mrs. Ross-Scott’s lead, ignoring 
her presence in the most pointed manner. Her as- 
surance even in her chagrin did not forsake her, and 
when the time of departure came, in lieu of other 
adieux from erstwhile friends, she sauntered uncon- 
cernedly over to Mrs. Overton’s pet Pomeranian, 
sleeping on a rug, shook his paw gravely, and called 
out in a gay voice: ‘'Goodbye, dog,” then amid covert 
laughter from the men and stony glances from the 
women, she left the room. 


114 


THE JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER X 


Since Mrs. Overton's week-end party, the feeling 
of extreme unrest had been more than ever mani- 
fest in the Manning home. Mrs. Howard's bitter re- 
sentment of the scandal created by Mrs. Van Bus- 
kirk's bold disregard of appearances, found only one 
safe vent — Eleanor. She dared not complain openly 
at her son-in-law, and since complain she must, her 
daughter felt the full measure of her discontent, and 
the days were spent in unending repetitions of her 
lament. 

Manning was not much at home, but what time he 
spent there was an unabated horror. He allowed no 
opportunity to escape mortifying or enraging his wife. 
In the privacy of their home, he was openly insulting, 
and though he insisted upon her frequent attendance at 
social functions with him, it appeared to be mainly for 
the purpose of parading his unkindness and disrespect. 

Eleanor rarely quarrelled ; in fact, it was hard to 
engage her in any conversation in which he^ had part ; 
but she had grown more callous to the opinion of the 
world, harder hearted, more unfriendly and un- 
friended. The 3^outhful warmth of her earlier man- 
ner had given place to the coldness of disillusionment 
and made of her that which any loving heart would 
hate to see the object of its love become. 


THE JUDGMENT 


115 


One morning nearly a week after Mrs. Overton’s 
party, Mrs. Howard, greatly agitated, burst into Elea- 
nor’s room, holding out in her trembling hands an 
open letter. ‘‘J^st listen to this awful thing!” she 
cried in tragic tones. '‘William is going to divorce 
you — why, oh, why must I suffer so — why could I 
not have died in peace like your poor father 1 
Divorced I — Disgraced ! — Heaven help me — Let me 
die,” and in a paroxysm of angry tears, and tumul- 
tuous excitement, she thrust the paper into Eleanor’s 
hands. 

"And did he write you instead of me?” Eleanor rose 
with the question. 

"Read it! Read, and see to what you have brought 
me,” her mother’s smothered voice returned, and Elea- 
nor read : 

"Dear Will — I beg you not to enter your plea for a di- 
vorce from your detested wife solely upon the ground of 
your unfruitful marriage. It is true that under the laws 
of the State, that is a legal plea, but why base your con- 
tention upon that ground, when her connection with 
DeWitte gives you another, which makes it easier. 
It is common talk, and you should not have to bear the 
blame that will be visited upon you for putting her 
aside because she is childless, while she sits back in 
scornful assumption of virtue and goes unpunished for 
her insults to both of us. For you her face is filled with 
detestation, scorn and loathing. For DeWitte, she 
is all smiles and gladness. In your suit for divorce 
they should both be exposed to the fullest extent, and 
by so doing you will have the approval of at least all 
those whose friendship is worth having. I am glad 
to say that Van B. has gone and gone forever, arid 


116 


THE JUDGMENT 


when you are free from your burden as I am now 
from mine, we will grasp the happiness so long de- 
layed. I am as always, your devoted 

‘Touise.’’ 

She read it to the end, and so quiet had she be- 
come, that her mother ceased her sobbing to look at 
her. Then, too exasperated to wait longer, she cried 
out: '‘Well, what have you to say?” Eleanor turned 
to look at her, and the selfish woman fairly gasped 
in sudden amazement at the blaze of indignation en- 
veloping her daughter’s face. 

"Where did you get this thing?” she demanded in 
a tone that cut like steel. 

"He dropped it.” 

"And you read it?” 

"Of course, I read it. Do not blame me for my 
solicitude for you. Oh! that awful divorce. You 
have ruined us both, we will be disgraced, cast out — 
friendless. His money will save him, and we must 
creep oiT in shame, your position gone, and your 
character ruined. Tell me, Eleanor! Tell me, is it 
true — is there anything of this dreadful talk about 
you and DeWitte? If you love him, say so, and we 
will appeal to him to save us. Perhaps he might 
marry you. Perhaps — ” But she was silenced by the 
imperious anger of the woman confronting her. "Stop ! 
I command you. I will not be insulted so. My God ! 
and even you, my mother, can believe these shameless 
lies. Oh, this hollow mockery of decency with which 
I imagined I had cloaked myself, has fallen apart and 
leaves me bare and shamed — if I were a courtesan 
of the deepest dye, I could not despise myself more 
than for being what I have been — wife to this devil 


THE JUDGMENT 


117 


who calls himself man — joint owner of him with that 
abandoned woman. Lash me, oh, God! Scourge me, 
for I married him, I lived with him, I was his wife, 
and I deserve my hell.” 


Why is it that we seek the theatre? Is it to see 
whom else may be there, to search the boxes, and note 
that our neighbor’s wife and her friend’s husband have 
found it a convenient meeting place, to observe the 
magnificence of the new people whose recent wild 
ride upon the steed of finance down the race-course of 
chance has won for them a glittering prize, or is it 
possible that we in reality enjoy the play, and intend 
to sit throughout the performance, interested listen- 
ers to new renditions of that unending theme, upon 
which half the comedies and more than half the 
tragedies of life are founded; human love, its frail- 
ties, its vicissitudes, and its consequences? 

The Manning box was filled, as were most of the 
others. The scene was almost like a gala night at the 
opera for all ’round the glittering horseshoe the par- 
terre boxes were filled with a brilliant throng glisten- 
ing with jewels, happy or seeming to be, in the enjoy- 
ment of social and financial pre-eminence. Maude 
and Eva Manning sat at one end of the box, while 
Mrs. Howard and Eleanor occupied the other end. 
There was a space between where Manning usually 
sat, but this night he was absent. 

During the intermission of the play, the Manning 
sisters were happy in the visits of the men who came 
and went from box to box. 

Mrs. Howard was visibly making an attempt to 


118 


THE JUDGMENT 


appear natural, but Eleanor made no such effort. 
Occupied with her own thoughts, she made a strik- 
ing figure of cold disdain and aloofness, vouchsafing 
but the barest civilities to those surrounding her. 
Oblivious to the gay scene, her thoughts centered 
themselves upon her suffering, which would not be 
banished. Over and over in memory she rehearsed 
the scenes of her past years. After consciousness 
returned to her yesterday, with its load of insults, 
ignominy and failure, and its crowning indignity, the 
recollection of the letter exposing the plan to befoul 
her reputation, defame her character, and thrust her 
out among men branded with an unjust infamy; she 
demanded an interview with her husband, and show- 
ing the letter, awaited his speech. In his surprise, 
it was slow in coming. She had forestalled him, and 
he knew not what to say. While she waited for him 
to break the uncomfortable silence, he stammered : 
''Well, well, you surely are not surprised,’’ then as 
she still made no reply, he went on: "Your extreme 
coldness has convinced me that this course would 
tend to your own happiness also.” Still silence — then 
— "You hardly expect me to believe that you love 
me or object to my proposed course, do you?” At 
the direct question, and the assured insolence that 
crept back to his voice, Eleanor lost her control and 
turned to him in fury. "Care for you ! — I ! — ” and the 
scorn should have killed him. "It is not a matter of 
that, but I have sent for you to say that when once 
you dare lay your defiling touch on my reputation, 
once insinuate a breath of your lying scandal con- 
cerning me — that day you die; for if no other means 
avail me, I will kill you with my naked hands. Your 
brutality, and the hate I feel will make me strong 


THE JUDGMENT 


enough to do it. To make of you in reality, what in 
my esteem you already are — carrion. 

Angry at himself for being intimidated, yet unable 
to cope with her in this new guise, Manning sought 
his mother-in-law, where he found a very different 
kind of woman. She, too, was angry, but her wrath 
was of a meaner sort, and she was willing to accept 
whatever excuse gave promise of personal comfort. 
Her self interest made her listen to Manning's argu- 
ment and she became his strongest support. It was 
agreed between them that no divorce proceedings 
would be instituted, if Eleanor would surrender her- 
self, her individuality and her soul. True, this was 
not what they said, when they declared that wifely 
obedience was all that would be asked, and that in re- 
turn she might remain in possession of the position 
he had given her. 

'‘But you can tell her," he snarled, "that unless she 
does come under, unless she does agree that hence- 
forth I am master in this house, I swear to ruin her — 
I can, and by God! I will, if I die for it — and turn 
her out penniless and disgraced — you will tell her?" 
and his black eyes glared. 

"Yes, yes, William, I will tell her all. She must 
and will do as you say, but let me make peace between 
you. I can convince Eleanor; I will tell her she is 
wrong, but can't you try to be a little more tender 
and forgiving? You do not understand her impulsive 
nature. A jealous woman will say many untrue and 
unwise things. She has suffered greatly over your at- 
tention to others, and you should make some allow- 
ance for what she says," and Mrs. Howard found 
refuge in her ancient defense of tears and long drawn 
sighs. 


120 


THE JUDGMENT 


All this, and more was told to Eleanor by her 
mother, and it came back to her mind, as she sat in 
the theatre box. 

The lines of the play seemed half meaningless to 
her, though to force back into forgetfulness her own 
wretchedness, she tried again and again to concen- 
trate her mind upon them. The play was: ‘'Airs Well 
That Ends Well.” Bertram's cruel letter had just 
reached Helena, and the woe upon the actress' face 
struck an answering chord of sympathy in Eleanor's 
heart, and she began to listen. 

At first, the repulsed forsaken wife was filled with 
anguish, but there came a time when her great love 
set about to find the way to fulfill the conditions stated 
in the letter. She found that way, as readers know, 
and with their child upon her breast, brought to her 
feet the truant husband. 

How strange a theme, and why should it cling? 
“Father to an unknown woman's child! 'Twas done 
in Helena's time!” 'Round and 'round, the thought 
revolved in her tortured brain, until at last the hope- 
lessness of her situation shut out her finer thoughts, 
and made her forget her girlhood traditions of love 
and honor for honor's sake. 

She realized that it was as her mother had said: 
The stony bitter-sweet path of motherhood now held 
out to her the only road to safety — “If you but had a 
child!” her mother's wailing voice repeated, and the 
complaining tones came back again in persistent echoes 
— “/ wiir — she thought — “one might as well. My 
daily life with him is worse than this — it is the only 
way. They shall not push me down into the whirl- 
pools of obloquy, and since by legal means escape 
evades me, tied as I am to this physical fragment of 


THE JUDGMENT 


121 


a man — I will, / say — I will escape — some other way” 

The next day Dr. Bryan was sitting in his cozy 
library when she entered. 

'‘Ah! little girl, this is a treat. How glad I am 
to see you,’' but he quickly stopped at what he saw 
on Eleanor’s face. “What is it?” he asked, his voice 
losing its cheerful tone. Then Eleanor told her story 
— of the wrongs and cruelties; the hideous truths 
which her lips had until now withheld; then of the 
letter, and the dastardly plan to defame her. The old 
man bowed his white head* as she proceeded, ’till the 
cold voice suddenly lost its tone of lifelessness, 
and strong and passionately she cried: “I am deter- 
mined to submit no more; I have decided to protect 
myself.” 

“Then you will file a countersuit?” he lifted his 
head to say. 

“No, and neither shall they drag me through the 
courts, defaming me. It is the woman who always 
suffers; once divorced, the world declares her black 
as pitch, and I will not be divorced. I have paid my 
price, and I will protect myself at any cost, but in 
another way. Manning craves a child; for this he 
would crawl in the dust at my feet. I have resolved 
to have one, and I have come to you for advice.” 

Dr. Bryan looked up in quick amazement. “Elea- 
nor!” he gasped, “You! He!” 

Eleanor laughed, and the laughter made him 
shudder. 

His head fell, this time to the table. “Poor child !” 
he groaned. “Poor deluded child, you don’t know?” 

Eleanor looked at him, for a moment her face dis- 
torted with pain, but she shook it off, and laughed 


122 


THE JUDGMENT 


again. ‘'Don’t ! Eleanor, don’t laugh like that, you 
kill me !” the old man begged. 

“Listen to me,” she continued. “I am not the child 
you think me. I know what you meah, but I am de- 
termined.” 

When she told him her plan gleaned from the play, 
the old man groaned aloud: “My God! My God!” 
Eleanor continued: “As my only friend I have come 
to you. I am trusting you with more than life. If 
you refuse to help me, you drive me to another, who 
may not protect me. Think well before you deny 
me, for in God’s presence I swear to do this thing; 
with your help, if I may, without it, if I must.” 

Silence fell upon them both. The old man’s head 
was bowed; his frame was shaking with his sobs. 
Over the heart of each was black despair, for the old 
man knew her determination was unchangeable, and 
Eleanor had decided upon her course. 

At last he raised his drawn face, hoping to see 
a sign of faltering, but her face was hard, determined 
and rigidly set; her eyes met his in a way that told 
him plainly the hopelessness of opposition. 

When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper: “If 
this is your final determination, I shall not fail you 
now.” 

“Then do not delay,” she answered. 


THE JUDGMENT 


123 


CHAPTER XI 


The next morning Robert Van Arsdale and Gordon- 
Leigh were standing on the clubhouse steps when an 
old man passed by, his hat pulled over his eyes, 
despondency and distress visible in his gait and bear- 
ing. Something familiar caused the two men to look 
at him again. He did not speak nor even glance at 
them, but at the second look, they turned to each 
other in astonishment. Van Arsdale crying: “Dr. 
Bryan ! By all thaPs great. What on earth can it 
mean? He looks dreadful. I wonder what has hap- 
pened V 

“WhaPs the matter with the old Doctor?’’ asked 
DeWitte, joining them from the street. “I passed 
him just now, and I declare I hardly knew him, he 
looked so sad and broken. Have you heard of any 
bad news concerning him?” None of them knew the 
grief eating its way into the old man’s heart; the 
bitter secret which bowed his head, and lined his face. 

The long night gave him no rest. His letter of 
imploring protest to Eleanor brought only this an- 
swer: “I have decided; it is the only way of escape. 
I must have your help; do not compel me to seek it 
elsewhere.” Pacing the floor in mental agony, help- 
less to liberate her from her cruel surroundings, and 
most of all, to deliver her from the enemy she had be- 


124 


THE JUDGMENT 


come to herself, he cried out in anguish of spirit: 
'Toor child, poor child; they have ruined your life, 
and now shall I help you to blacken your soul ! Oh, 
my God ! that I should be forced to this ! That I must 
be the one to whom she comes with such a plea! Must 
I? Do I dare refuse? If I do, I only send her to some 
one who may betray her, and spread abroad her 
shame. Is this a greater sin than her life with Man- 
ning? How can I answer? I am not God, I cannot 
judge. He must do that. In her mother’s hellish bar- 
ter for money, the daughter has been lost. Shall I 
refuse to her the aid she asks of me? They have 
ruined her life, but if I can, I must cover that ruin, 
and save her reputation. That perhaps I still may do. 
But, oh, Howard! Know with what grief I do this 
thing. How riiy heart bleeds, my soul sickens at the 
ruin that is wrought. Believe me, dear dead friend, 
and understand — and oh, God! support me through 
this awful time.” 

In the end a dim light broke its way through the 
torturing doubts that filled the old man’s heart, lead- 
ing him to a decision and a plan. 

‘"John,” said Dr. Bryan to his faithful old servant, 
brought with him from North Carolina, ''Hal Gregory, 
a young gentleman from North Carolina will arrive 
this evening. Be on the lookout for him, and sec 
that he gets the very best there is in the house, for 
we must try to make his visit pleasant.” 

"Yes, sah; certainly, sah. Yo’ say he is from Norf 
Ca’lina?” 

"Yes, from Raleigh; you know his family. When 
we left there they lived across the street from us. His 
family are among my early boyhood friends — as good 
friends as I ever had, as good as any man need want. 


THE JUDGMENT 


125 


When my wife was dying, this boy’s mother watched 
over and cared for her, and when all was over, spoke 
words of comfort to me. Do your best for him, John.” 

‘Wes, sah, I will, sah.” 

And later John grinned his broadest welcome to 
the young man, as he ushered him into the room 
already prepared for him. 

“’Member you! Yes, sah, I does! I ’members yo’ 
pa and yo’ ma, yes, sah! I ’members em all. Yo’ 
wa’nt nuthin but a little tow-headed young un when 
me and the Doctah lef Raleigh ; but we an’ never for- 
got de Souf ; and we ain’ never felt much at home up 
heah. We lubs de Souf yit, and alius will; but when 
de Doctah los’ his wife, he couldn’ stan it no mo’ dar, 
and we had to leab. Ri’ now a mockin bird a singin’ 
gibs him de blues; and honeysuckle. Oh, Lawd! he 
caint Stan’ it yit. But we sho is glad to see you, sah, 
we sho is!” and John hastened to tell the other serv- 
ants the news of the young man’s arrival. 

“Caint you see he’s frum de Souf?” he asked of 
Lizzie, the housemaid. “Jes’ look how he walks; 
’tain no common folks es kin walk laik dat. No’n 
deed; he’s quality. Me and de Doctah, we’s knowed 
his fokes since fo de wah. We libbed at Raleigh whur 
he libs yit, and tain’ no new fokes bout him. Git out 
de way, gal ; lem’ me watch em pass out de do. My ! 
it looks laik de ole times,” and John’s eyes grew misty. 

At the club. Dr. Bryan’s handsome young friend 
attracted more than passing notice. His tall, finely 
proportioned figure, his handsome face, his polished 
manner and refined bearing set him apart from most 
of the men gathered there. 

“Haughty looking fellow,” remarked Van Arsdale, 
“Wonder who he is?” 


126 


THE JUDGMENT 


''Southerner, I guess,’’ Gordon-Leigh answered. "I 
heard the old Doctor say he was the son of one of his 
boyhood friends. That accounts for the old man’s 
paternal air. One look at them is enough to know that 
they feel their superiority; just a little too darned 
aristocratic to suit me.” 

But even his prejudice began to fade away under 
the charm of the young stranger’s manner. "Deuced 
pleasant fellow, after all,” he admitted half sheepishly 
to Van Arsdale, as Dr. Bryan and his young friend 
left them that night. 

It was a hard situation for the old man, and he 
cudgeled his brains with painful care to pave the way 
for the talk he had prepared. After all, it was not 
very adroitly put, and his young friend turned to him 
in astonishment: "Why, Dr. Bryan! It is simply out 
of the question! No one ever heard of such an abnor- 
mal situation.” 

The conversation that ensued was long and earnest, 
for the young man was hard to convince, but the old 
man was determined that his plan once entered into, 
should be carried out. 

With tearful eyes and a broken voice, he pictured 
a beautiful heart-broken woman, her innocent child- 
hood, the death of her father, her promise to care 
for her mother, that mother’s unreasonable demands, 
ending in marriage to a man she loathed and hated, 
believing it the only way to save her mother’s life ; his 
insane desire for an heir, his impotence added to his 
cruelty and inhuman treatment, his unfaithfulness, and 
finally, the plot to ruin and disgrace her by dragging 
her into a scandalous divorce proceeding, and her 
appeal to him for help as her only friend and the friend 
of her father, his best and boyhood friend. Her de- 


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THE JUDGMENT 


127 


termination to take the course suggested as her only 
way of escape, his utter failure to dissuade her, and 
finally, the dire consequences that would befall the 
woman, who as a child, he loved as his own; his 
promise to help her, and his dreadful disappointment 
if he now failed her. 

‘T canT yet view it as you do, but for your sake 
I agree. The situation is certainly a novel one, and 
I like adventure.’’ 

^'Remember, boy, for God’s sake remember, you have 
sworn not to attempt to fathom her identity. I swear she 
is a good woman — or she was before she married this rep- 
tile, who, with his tribe, has ruined her.” His trembling 
hand was on the young man’s arm, detaining him as 
they stood in the closely shut room adjoining one 
more closely shut, more densely sunk in the mystery 
of darkness. 

''My God ! My God !” he groaned, as he heard the in- 
tervening door close softly. "My God! oh, my God!” 
and he sunk into a chair. 

He groaned aloud: "Why did I consent? Why did 
I?” His stifling grief oppressed and burdened his 
heart almost to the breaking point, as he cursed his 
weakness when he yielded to her. 

He did not know how much later it was, when a 
hand on his arm aroused him, and he raised a haggard 
drawn face to the man above him. '‘Damn it, sir, this 
is an awful thing. I regret most sincerely that I came 
here. She — by the Lord, sir, you have deceived me.” For 
suddenly a conscience had cried aloud, and to silence 
its clamor the owner turned to the bent figure of the 
old man, and spoke in tones, where resentment fought 
with censure : "I thought from what you said, sir, that 


128 


THE JUDGMENT 


she could not be a lady. You have deceived me, sir, 
I say, and I demand some explanation of this 
mystery.” 

The old man jumped to his feet at these words. 
‘TIush, boy, hush! Come out of here! You don't 
know what you say ; come out ; my God ! come, come !” 
and they left the ante-room ; the old man now the 
more alert and active; the other angered and sullen. 

Tossing on his restless pillow, Gregory found no 
rest that night. Self condemnation and bitter blame 
of the old doctor surged through his mind in the long, 
dark hours: ‘‘Those heart-breaking sobs!” he mur- 
mured. “God ! I shall never forgive myself !” 

Dr. Bryan's will had never shown itself so strong 
as in his vehement refusal to his young friend's plead- 
ings: “Never, sir, never! Remember your promise.” 

“Damn my promise, sir! How could I know that 
she was this kind of woman? How could I believe 
she was all right? Lord, sir! You don't understand! 
You must tell me. I must know.” 

“You never shall, my boy, I promise you. I would 
not tell you for my life or yours. Not for her own. 
Do you think I am not suffering? Then you do not 
know. I shall never cease to condemn my part in 
this, or to bewail my weakness in giving my consent. 
Do not ask me to complete the ruin we have so nearly 
made. By God, sir, you do not know me. The only 
thing I can do now, is to protect her name, and while 
I have breath, that I will do. Rage as you please, 
you are the one of the three to suffer least. We, she 
and I, can never recover what we have lost. You will 
forget it soon, and class it in your mind among your 
gay wild oats, but it is not so with us; ah, no, I will 
never tell you.” 


THE JUDGMENT 


129 


''Then, sir, I go, but remember this, since you re- 
fuse me, ril find that woman without your help.” The 
old man tried to stop him, but the young one threw 
out a restraining arm, his angry attitude expressing 
his defiance. "Tell her this for me: She lives some- 
where in the world, and so do I, and as long as I live, 
I am searching for her. You cannot prevent me, nor 
can she ; as you have brought us together in your 
damned mysterious way, it shall be my task to find 
her; and when I find her — tell her this — when I find 
her, if she is what I believe that she may be, then she 
is mine.” 


130 


THE JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER XII 


'‘Eva, I can’t understand Eleanor; there is some- 
thing on her mind and it promises no good for us. 
Have you noticed her peculiar manner lately?” asked 
Maude, coming into Eva’s room one night. 

Eva, combing her colorless hair, halted with her 
arm upraised. “The very thing Aunt Norton said 
to-day ! What can it be ?” 

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it means ill luck 
to us. When did Aunt Norton first notice it?” 

“She said that for several weeks she had seen it 
coming on, in fact almost ever since the scene over 
Mrs. Van Buskirk’s letter.” 

“That turned out badly enough, and just when it 
seemed to promise so well,” resumed Maude. “I could 
wring old Mrs. Howard’s neck. If it had not been 
for her, William would never have made peace with 
Eleanor, after the awful way in which she talked to 
him. That was indeed a scene to remember! How 
William cowered before her when she said: ‘I will 
kill you with my naked hands’; his knees shook so 
he could hardly stand. I believe he thought she in- 
tended to do it right then.” 

“Well, I did, too. I never was so frightened in my 
life,” declared Eva. “I sincerely wish she had, and 
then since they have no children, we would have got- 


THE JUDGMENT 131 

ten more than we are ever likely to have while Wil- 
liam lives/' 

A few days later, Manning rushed into the house 
in a rhapsody of joy. He had just come from Dr. 
Bryan, and sought his wife, almost frenzied with de- 
light, capering 'round her like an enraptured spar- 
row. ‘'My darling wife, I am so happy, so happy," 
he reiterated. Intent upon his own extravagant pleas- 
ure, he did not notice the utter lack of responsive- 
ness in her, for his mind was filled with joy at his 
discovery. “A son! It must be a son," he cried over 
and over to himself and to her. 

A spasm clouded Eleanor's pale face, which even 
her strong will could not entirely conquer. “My 
precious angel, you are ill. Call the maid; send for 
the doctor! She must not be sick! oh, no, I could 
not stand it now. She must be well; she must be 
happy ! somebody go ; don't stand there like a damned 
idiot, James," raging at the hurrying servant. 
“Madame is ill! For God's sake send for the doctor! 
Go, you fool !" and he pranced more wildly in his 
anxiety than in his joy. 

Eleanor interrupted him : “No, no, I am not ill. 
Do not send for Dr. Bryan. It was only a momentary 
pain." 

“But, my darling, you must not have a momentary 
pain. You must be happy, and well. No, we must 
have the doctor, my angel. Go, James." But at the 
strange note in Eleanor's voice repeating: “No, I 
will not have him. I do not want him. I will not see 
him," while the blood rushed to her face, and crim- 
soned its surface, lately so pale. Manning terrified at 
her excitement, hastened to change the order and to 
assure her: “Then you shall not, my darling, you 


132 


THE JUDGMENT 


shall do just as you like in everything. Oh, yes, you 
shall have your own way. No queen ever had more 
willing service than shall be yours from this day. 
My darling girl, my precious wife, my dearest angel,'* 
and he murmured on in unintelligent rhapsodies. 

When Mrs. Norton entered their sitting-room, her 
nieces rose in unison. Maude's face was filled with 
anger, and her black eyes shone wickedly. Her 
sister's face was bathed with tears, her swollen eyes 
and reddened nose vying with each other in point 
of color. 

‘‘Girls, girls, this is awful!" gasped the astonished 
old woman, hardly able to speak for rage. At the 
sight of her, Maude's anger culminated in a rush of 
tears and Eva's ever ready flood broke forth anew. 

“I could kill her 1 I could kill her !" Maude stormed. 

Mrs. Norton looked on in silence. Chagrin and 
anger for once in her life aliiKost silenced her tongue. 

“Oh, Aunt Norton, what shall we do?" wailed Eva. 

“I don't know. I'm sure, unless, as Maude so often 
suggests, you kill her," her aunt answered, and Eva, 
taking her literally, complained: “But William is go- 
ing to send us away. He says the sight of us is 
unpleasant to her." 

“Just think of being sent out of your father's home 
for her !" broke in Maude. 

“Did he speak to you. Aunt Norton?" Eva asked. 

“Yes, he said he'd like to have me take both of 
you to live with me ; that he would make a very liberal 
allowance; but when I told him that I did not care 
to assume a task he himself was tired of, he coolly 
said that he would send for your mother's sister, and 
set you up with her. He says he is determined that 
you shall not stay here to disturb his adored wife. 


THE JUDGMENT 


133 


Ha ! ha ! ha and her laugh was worse than her words. 

The sisters did not enjoy their aunt’s visit. Neither 
her manner nor her words poured any oil of comfort 
on the troubled waters of their distress, and when she 
was gone, they looked at each other with rekindled 
animosity. “Mean old thing, she is just like William. 
They both enjoy our grief and humiliation,” they 
cried. 

Eleanor did not often meet them in the remaining 
few days of their stay, for it was decided by their 
brother that they go to their maternal aunt at once. 
When money speaks aloud, material things are quick 
to obey, and within a week the new home was ready, 
and with their soft spoken, pale faced and obedient 
widowed aunt, they took up their abode. Mrs. 
Roberts was entirely willing to assume the role of 
chaperone for her nieces in exchange for the liberal 
allowance so unexpectedly proposed by her hitherto 
indifferent nephew. When Manning told his sisters 
of his plan for them, and the cause of it, the storm of 
their surprised chagrin and anger burst on his head, 
until the glitter came to his eyes, and he let loose on 
them a counter storm of vituperation and threats, 
which drove them dumb. “Dare to say another word,” 
he cried, “and I swear that I’ll never give you another 
penny. You know I can and will reduce you to your 
pitiful annuity and make you live on it if you dare 
to open your mouths again.” His wrath silenced and 
frightened them until they accepted with a pretense 
of willingness the terms he offered. 

After their departure, the stillness of the house 
was maddening to Eleanor’s overwrought nerves, but 
this was not so bad as the delirium of her husband’s 
joy. In her extremity of nervousness, he learned that 


134 


THE JUDGMENT 


he must curb his exhibitions of delight, and in lieu of 
that, he adopted the making of handsome gifts as a 
demonstration of his joy. Exquisitely rare jewels 
filled her caskets; costly laces ran riot in her ward- 
robe, and as a last proof, he increased her jointure to 
an independent fortune. But none of these things 
brought back the sparkle to her sad eyes, nor filled 
with interest her unmoved face. Colder than ever, 
apparently more unfeeling, she moved among them 
automaton like, as if oppressed by a deadly secret 
woe; refusing all companionship she withdrew her- 
self until those who watched her awaited in dread 
suspense signs of a mental collapse. But her strong 
will did not desert her, and the collapse did not come. 
The faraway look grew and deepened; she sat for 
hours, her hands idle in her lap, her eyes fixed in an 
unseeing gaze before her. Succeeding days brought no 
relief to her painful lethargy until Manning’s anxiety 
amounted almost to madness. All his attempts at 
tenderness were met by the same repellant coldness, 
holding him off alarmed and frightened. 

‘‘Do not distress her. Let her entirely alone. It 
will all come right,” Dr. Bryan insisted, but to Man- 
ning each day was an increasing agony, and they told 
on him with cruelty. One day as Dr. Bryan was leav- 
ing, he called him into the study, and closed the door. 
“I cannot stand it any longer, Doctor,” he whispered, 
“I could not bear to lose her now; this strain will 
kill me.” The doctor answered: “Wait a little while; 
a change is coming soon.” 

One night Eleanor woke with a start. In her dream 
a tender arm was ’round her, a voice had thrilled her 
soul. “That voice again!” she cried in anguish. “O 
God! send me merciful oblivion — shut my ears to that 


THE JUDGMENT 


135 


insistent sound. Silence that voice, O God! or I shall 
die. I cannot, dare not listen. It racks my soul; it 
tears anew^ my aching heart. Dear God, let me for- 
get!’' and she tried to smother in the pillows the sound 
of her sobs. 

Does God answer prayers when He sometimes 
sends us anew the grief from which we murmur? To 
Eleanor this answer came. 

Beneath her starved and aching heart that never 
yet was filled with joy, it began to thrill. In her 
stormy grief she listened; her sobs ceased, 'till almost 
afraid to breathe, she waited for she knew not what. 
Slowly it came again; at first, merely a thrill, half 
pain, half joy; then her hand sought her heart in 
painful rapture at the now fully understood message. 
'‘Dear God!” she cried, 'T understand.” 

Months later all was excitement in the Manning 
house. "Doctor, doctor, stop! I beg of you; tell me 
quickly how she is.” 

"All right. Manning. She’s all right. Don’t be 
uneasy,” assured Dr. Bryan, himself half crazed with 
dread. 

Through her half shut door, the sound of Mrs. 
Howard’s weeping could be heard. "My poor child, 
she will die ! I know she will die ; and what will I 
do?” she cried over and over. As Manning entered 
the room, she dashed toward him and caught his arm. 
"Tell me, William, how is she? Is she dying? Tell 
me quickly. Will she die?” The man turned away; 
"Don’t ask me that ; I do not know,” he sobbed aloud. 

For Eleanor was now fighting a new battle, and as 
always, unaided. Dauntless and brave, she descended 
into the shadows of the yawning chasms of death, to 


136 


THE JUDGMENT 


peer therein, and find them peopled with ugly grue- 
some flitting shapes that mocked her agony. 

The hours were long; the night seemed like a 
lifetime filled with pain; but after all, the day came, 
and with it a weak little cry heralding that oft re- 
peated mystery of life. Louder than the hammers 
beating into her tortured brain, she heard that little 
cry and forgot all else. ''Ah!'’ she breathed, in a long 
drawn sigh of joy. 

Dr. Bryan came toward her, and as he bent above 
her, his streaming tears fell on her face: "Your little 
son, Eleanor," he tried to conquer his shaking voice, 
and laid within her outstretched, eager arms, a sweet 
soft yielding bundle. Then God opened his Heavenly 
gates and flooded her heart with joy, engulfed her, 
lifted up, and bore her soul aloft in bliss most un- 
alloyed. "My own," she murmured, "my dear, my 
own !" and tighter held the little bundle. It moved 
in protest at the too close embrace, and she loosened 
her hold to look within; two big, round wondering 
eyes met hers, and then and there with strange, new 
all sufficing joy, the woman's soul was born; and 
mother greeted son. 

"May I come in. Doctor?" a hushed but eager voice 
asked at Eleanor's door. 

The old man looked at Eleanor, but she was all 
intent upon what lay within the hollow of her arm, 
and had not heard the question. "It has to be," the 
old man told himself, and looked again at the quiet 
figure, whose shining eyes lit the pale face with the 
radiance of mother love that had stormed and cap- 
tured the woman's heart. 

Again the whisper came: "Doctor, let me come for 



‘\Ajid then and there the zvornan's soul zms born, and 
mother greeted sonA 


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THE JUDGMENT 


137 


just a moment; I cannot wait,” and the door opened 
silently, admitting a softly stepping figure. 

‘'What will she do?” the old man breathed, in dread 
of the effect on Eleanor, but she scarcely noticed him. 
Even when Manning leaned above the baby form, 
his breath coming quickly, his face twitching and 
pallid, she made no sign. 

“Lift him up ; I must see him,” he begged the nurse, 
but when she bent toward the child to lift him, Elea- 
nor spoke: “No! — ” Dr. Bryan laid his hand upon 
her arm and stopped the words before she uttered 
them. “You shall have him again, my dear,” and he 
lifted the child and turned to Manning, saying hur- 
riedly: “They are all that way at first; they do not 
like to have anyone touch the little fellows but them- 
selves.” 

In his ecstasy. Manning forgot his wife's forbidding 
word and lifted a cautious, outstretched finger to 
stroke the soft little rosy face. At the touch, the 
baby yelled a lusty, loud objection, and Eleanor 
cried : “Bring him back to me ; you hurt him.” Though 
disconcerted, her husband's laugh was yet a happy 
one. The little voice had thrilled him through and 
through. To cover his nervousness he coughed, and 
turned to Dr. Bryan : “Fine little chap. Doctor, fine 
little chap. I intend to trade you that property down 
the avenue for him.” 

The Doctor forced a laugh : “All right, and I'll deed 
it back at once to my little Godson, for Eleanor prom- 
ises me this ; and also that I name him.” 

“Oh, no, no! surely I'll do that,” Manning stam- 
mered, but Dr. Bryan laughed again. “No, she and 
I for that. Manning; his name must be Joseph 
Howard, or we'll take him right away from you.” 


138 


THE JUDGMENT 


Weak with happiness, Manning gave in. ''All right, 
Doctor, anything you say; just give me the boy, and 
name him what you please. Might I kiss Eleanor?” 

"If she says so,” the old man mumbled uneasily. 
Manning* bent to touch her forehead, but she did not 
move her head. Her eyes again were fixed upon the 
wonderful little atom that was filling her mind, her 
heart and her life with the strange new joy of mother- 
hood. 

Not long after, a crowd of men were standing on 
the clubhouse steps. "By George!” laughed Bobby 
Van Arsdale, as Manning hurried by them, "you have 
deserted us lately.” 

"Better things at home,” answered Manning over 
his shoulder. 

"Funny to see the change in Manning, isn’t it?” 
remarked Hilbrandt. "It seems to be a mighty little 
cause for such great effect.” 

Van Arsdale laughed again: "Yes, little, but that 
doesn’t count. It appears that in one gallant fight. 
Sir Knight, the Baby, has put to route Manning’s en- 
tire collection, mistress, sisters and even the veno- 
mous old aunt have all gone down to this new foe.” 

The men listened and laughed, and one said: "I 
guess Mrs. Van Buskirk is fixed for good. There’s 
hardly any prospect for her to climb the social ladder 
on Manning’s shoulders now; you remember her bold 
assurance at the last horse show? Pretty hard on her 
to tumble down so far, and fall so hard, isn’t it?” 

"Didn’t count on the baby, I guess.” 

"No, not she.” 

"Well, Manning surely counts on him now,” de- 
clared Van Arsdale. "All I have seen of him for 


THE JUDGMENT 


139 


weeks is the twinkle of his shining little feet as he flies 
down the stairs, hurrying home/’ 

‘'The next day they waylaid him : “How many teeth, 
Manning?” “How is the baby’s papa?” “What is 
good for colic, Manning?” cried a chorus of three 
voices. 

“That’s all right, boys, laugh all you like; you’re 
only mad because you haven’t one.” 

“Me! Oh, Lord, just listen to him ! How his morals 
are perverted! Why should I have one?” cried Bobby, 
retreating from him. 

They all joined in the laugh at Bobby’s mock con- 
sternation, thit Manning was too much in earnest in 
his new found joy, to care for what they said. 

Gordon-Leigh’s voice hardly concealed his envy: 
“Boys beat girls ; know you’re glad, old man.” 

“Yes, I am,” Manning answered. “You know it’s 
the rule in my family to make the sons the heirs, and 
I wanted my name to go down with my money.” 

“By the way. Manning, I hear you’ve already set 
him up,” called Van Arsdale across the long table. 

“Yes, I’ll settle enough on him now, so that if I 
go under he will have something left,” Manning re- 
plied. 

“Something left! Well, I should say so! He made 
a new will and settled one million on his wife and 
fifty millions on the baby. I guess there would be 
something left,” Hilbrandt told his neighbor. 

“Phew!” whistled the man, “how much has he?” 

“So much that he doesn’t know himself,” Plilbrandt 
answered, “and it’s a positive sin the way he continues 
to make it.” 

“Lucky dog, I should say; beautiful wife, phenom- 
enal baby and too much money. No wonder he hops 


140 THE JUDGMENT 

around like a demented blackbird. It has gone to 
his head.” 

One day Manning laid a long, thick envelope on the 
table at Eleanor's side: ‘'A little present for you and 
the baby,” he explained. 

She was holding her child in her arms watching 
its sleep, with eyes that never tired and did not open 
the paper. 

‘Tt is my will,” he said. 

‘‘Yes?” she answered, still looking at the little face. 

“Do you feel no interest?” he asked, his tone ex- 
hibiting some irritation. 

“Oh, yes, but I was looking at him.” 

“Well, ril leave it, and you can read it when you 
please. It makes you both very rich.” “Yes,” she 
answered again, but still she watched the child, who 
had moved in his sleep, and thrown out one pink and 
dimpled hand as if clutching at an unseen phantom 
form. 

Mrs. Howard, sitting beside the fire, looked up at 
Manning, and smiled : “He is talking with the angels, 
William. Did you see him throw up his hands as if to 
catch them, and smile in his sleep? When a sleeping 
baby smiles, old nurses say that they talk to angels.” 

“Well, I'd a lot rather he'd talk to me,” returned 
Manning, gazing down on him. 

Mrs. Howard laughed again. “I’ve seen many fool- 
ish parents, but you two take the lead. You have 
almost deserted your club, your business and all your 
former amusements, while as for Eleanor, she can 
scarcely breathe away from the baby’s side. She sends 
the nurse away at night, and has him sleep in her own 
bed, which is bad for both herself and him. You see 
how she spends the days. I predict that before long 


THE JUDGMENT 


141 


this entire household will have become nothing more 
than one large nursery, while everyone in it develops 
into another servant for this young tyrant/’ Manning 
frowned at her words, but Eleanor only smiled, her 
eyes still on the little face. 

Mrs. Howard’s voice grew a little sharp: 'Tt is 
nothing short of foolishness to shut ourselves up in 
this way. The baby will last. Why should we not 
have some of our old pleasures, as we did before he 
came?” and she looked at her audience. Eleanor still 
smiled, but when she saw that her husband’s frown 
had deepened into a decided scowl at her mother’s 
words, she said : '"By all means, mother, go where and 
when you like. As for me, my pleasure is here, and I 
have had it too short a time ; it is too new and strange 
to leave it for society so soon.” Her husband here 
joined in: "And I was deuced tired of the senseless 
gabble I heard everywhere before we had him, and 
I’m going to stay about him just as long as I like. 
Of course, though, as Eleanor says, we needn’t keep 
you at home.” 

"I shall go out, then, as before, but I still think 
it very silly of Eleanor. No one does it nowadays. 
You’ll see how very tired she’ll grow,” Mrs. Howard 
prophesied. 

No answer, but Eleanor’s quiet smile, as she held 
the sleeping child a little closer to her: "Tired of 
you, darling !” she whispered, when they left her, 
"tired of you!” and she laughed softly, "of you, my 
own, my heart and very life. Ah, no; not while the 
stars wink their secrets to us; the moon sheds her 
beams in silver shafts to lighten night’s darkness, or 
the glorious old sun floods our daily walk with radi- 
ance as bright as our love. Tired, oh, no! Not now, 


142 


THE JUDGMENT 


that life has grown so sweet ; not now that each day is 
like a song of joy, each hour a bright gem in pleasure’s 
diadem. As well tell the dying wanderer to thrust 
away the cool water of life from his parched and burn- 
ing lips, as tell me to leave you, my little one.” 

The next day, in the nursery, Eleanor waited while 
the nurse prepared her son’s morning bath. The soft 
rubber folding bath tub was filled with foamy sweet- 
scented water. The rosy little child was enthroned 
in his mother’s arms, waiting for the dip he loved. 
The nurse hurried about collecting and laying out in 
readiness the dainty little garments, the powders and 
soft small brushes. Everything breathed of sweet- 
ness, but to Eleanor none of it was half so sweet as 
the warm, pink body of the little child. She held it 
close to her face, delighting in the satin smoothness 
of the baby skin. How soft and sweet he felt, as she 
rubbed her face against the little form. The child, 
looking at her, cooed his pleasure. She caught him 
close; and again; closer, closer. '‘O-h, darling! How 
I love you ! How I love you !” her voice broke in half 
sobs of joy. *‘Mine! Mine! All mine!” Again he 
cooed. Ah ! the music of the baby tones ! Tears 
gathered in the mother’s eyes as she held him close, 
hiding her face against him. 

Ah! Eleanor, you have your joy at last; but does 
not the price you paid sometimes rob that joy of 
sweetness? The memory of a voice, the thoughts that 
surge ’round and storm your heart; refusing to be 
banished ! 

Her heart’s painful throbbing stifling her, she cried : 
''Why need it be? Must I suffer this eternal expia- 
tion? Must I ever long for some forbidden joy? Shall 
the sweetness of mother love be tainted by the bitter- 


THE JUDGMENT 


143 


ness of memory? Oh! it is my punishment, and cruel 
as it is, I acknowledge its justice; for tortured now as 
lost souls must be tortured, I love, yes I love him; 
and I want — oh, God! I want my child’s father.” 

But tears do not efface; a bitter wail cannot silence 
the tortured cries of conscience, nor regrets remove 
the consequences of sinful deeds; and in our hours 
of greatest joy, memory oft points a scornful finger to 
a blackened spot reminding us : ‘'How dare you laugh, 
while yet I live, to place upon your joy my blighting 
touch!” In each man’s soul there lies the sinsick 
knowledge of his own unworthiness. It binds our 
souls to earth with chains of steel. We cannot sunder 
them ; we cannot lift our hearts above their cumbering 
weight; but He, the maker of us all, can touch them 
with a gentle breath, and lo! they break apart, and — 
wondrous thing — our hearts that lay beneath, black- 
ened by sin, trembling with unworthiness, and bowed 
to earth with human helplessness, arise, and soar to 
Him on spotless wings of faith, purified and healed 
by that eternal sacrifice that cleanses all. 

Another day. Eleanor was standing at her open 
window in the early Spring sunshine, holding her 
little son in her arms, as her husband entered the 
room. 

‘T found this at Tiffany’s, and I thought you might 
like it for the boy,” he remarked, holding out a little 
box. She opened it, to find two dainty diamond set 
sleeve clasps. “They are lovely!” and she clasped 
them on the tiny sleeves, disclosing the rounded dim- 
pled arm. “Sweetness!” she cried, and bent to kiss 
the little elbow. 

“If they could see you now, Eleanor, all would say 
the DeWitte painting was the most wonderful likeness 


144 THE JUDGMENT 

in the world/’ the man declared in ecstasy at the 
lovely sight. 

Eleanor tried to avoid her husband’s eyes. At 
every caress from him, every touch of his hand, a 
spasm of pain or something deeper crossed her face. 

Manning’s domesticity became a standing joke 
among his friends, who laughed at it, and wondered 
how long this state of things would last. In his per- 
verted nature, fad had followed fad, passion had suc- 
ceeded passion, and pleasures once secured, soon lost 
their joy, to be pushed aside for the next to come. 

''Eleanor, I often think you are jealous of the baby,” 
her mother told her one morning, after Manning’s 
early visit to the child. "You never look very pleasant 
when William holds him, and I wonder that he does 
not notice it.” 

"I hate his air of ownership,” Eleanor answered. 

"Well, of all things! Hate to have the child’s own 
father assert his rightful claims! You always had 
unpleasant traits, Eleanor, but this amounts to more 
than all,” Mrs. Howard sniffed disgustedly. 

"The child’s own father! Oh, my God!” Eleanor’s 
heart wailed. "I do hate him more and more. I 
loathe to have him touch my child, and when he kisses 
him, my heart grows hot and wild. Some day I shall 
betray myself. Some day this acting will fall apart, 
and my secret will disclose itself. But, no; for my 
darling’s sake, I dare not. I must forever act a part; 
must seem to care for that which I most despise. But 
it is hard, so hard, to do.” 

"How fast he grows,” she cried. "Three months 
to-day ; three months of sweetness you have given me, 
my little boy. The dearest days of all my life arc 
these I spend with you.” 


THE JUDGMENT 


145 


But who dare attempt portrayal of the joys of 
motherhood? Who can describe a mother’s ecstasy; a 
small head pillowed on her loving breast; that throb- 
bing source of succor to his helplessness? None need, 
for none but mothers know. 

Daily, they grow more sweet, more dear, more lov- 
able. Speak not with pity of the self-sacrificing 
mothers giving up each dear desire, each cherished 
pleasure, to stay at home, attend and care for the 
growing families that make the world. Instead of 
pity, grant them envy if you must, for surely in 
this world of ours there lives no other soul so filled 
with joy as that in partnership with God, who feel* 
itself the source of life and comfort for the precious 
little baby souls committed to their care. 

Five months had come to Eleanor’s little son, and 
with the day, appeared a tiny pearl in rosy coral set- 
ting. The nurse said : “He has a tooth,” and laughed 
in pride; but the mother knew it as a jewel that had 
come to earth, and fondly looked for those that fol- 
lowed it. 

At eight months; see him totter on his weak, un- 
certain feet, while on her knees she begged him : 
“Come, dearest, come to me,” and when he tried to 
come, she called again: “Come, come,” to catch him; 
fold him in her arms, and cry in rapture: “His first 
step ; oh, my dear, my little one, my own !” 


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CHAPTER XIII 


'‘Manning’s settlement on his boy is certainly an 
exponent of his fatherly love/’ said John Hilbrandt, 
at the club, as he lay down the paper. 

"Isn’t it!” rejoined Van Arsdale. 

"Cut the two sisters up pretty badly, I hear; they 
say Maude has been raving ever since the news came.” 

"Poor Eva,” laughed Hilbrandt, "I guess her nose 
will never recover from the traces of her tears.” 

Van Arsdale’s laugh rang out again: "Too bad, 
too bad; one hundred thousand each, offset by a cool 
million for the wife. I wish I might have viewed the 
scene. I wonder if Manning had the nerve to break 
the news to them, or if he left them to find it out by 
chance. Poor girls; they won’t even have enough 
to buy a little Frenchman. Too bad, too bad,” and 
both men laughed again. 

"Manning certainly has the ‘dust,’ ” Hilbrandt went 
on. "I hear that beside the million to the wife, there 
will be nearly one hundred millions to descend to that 
one small boy. Great Scott! It makes me faint,” 
and he leaned back in a simulated collapse. 

Van Arsdale grinned: "You could pay your debts 
on that, eh, John?” 

Hilbrandt looked up: "If Manning were out of the 
way. I’d like to try for the million. By George! I ' 
wish I could,” he added. 


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147 


''Manning can’t stand this strain long. Better be 
ready, John; faint heart, you know,” Bobby reminded 
him. 

"Too stupendous luck for me, and besides I couldn’t 
stand to live in the house with that little chap. The 
temptation to kill him would be too strong. I guess 
I’d better not enter the race,” he grinned. "But 
wouldn’t it be a hot one?” 

In their new home the Manning sisters had seen 
the paper. 

"I simply cannot bear it,” Maude cried, her face 
twitching with anger and grief. "Why couldn’t he 
have died before that baby came?” 

"It is awful,” wailed Eva, "no one will ever notice 
us now. One hundred thousand! Just think! We 
will have to do on one maid between us, and you 
always keep one busy, Maude, you know you do.” 

"A million dollars for her!” and Maude’s teeth 
snapped, "and all the rest of it, all the rest of it to 
that child.” 

As Mrs. Norton was announced, Maude started up 
in the hope of escape. "I will not see her,” she cried, 
"she has only come to twit us with this awful thing.” 
But her aunt intercepted her flight. 

"Don’t run away, my dear,” in acid tones, "it is 
only I, and I have come to sympathize with you about 
William’s settlements. He has certainly cut you and 
Eva out. I am so sorry for your poor luck, for surely 
I, more than anyone, know just why you shed these 
tears. I was defrauded by my brother, your father, 
and I know full well the chagrin which fills you now.” 
They could not speak. "Poor things, they feel it 
keenly,” she remarked, as if to herself, then went on : 
"Ah! me! I did not realize the influence of his wife. 


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for of course, it is her doing/’ As she spoke, she cast 
on them a searching look. ‘‘Do you not think a per- 
sonal appeal to Eleanor might avail to make him 
enlarge your shares?” 

Maude sprang to her feet, her eyes darting fire. 
''What! Beg of her! Aunt Norton you forget your- 
self!” while Eva complained: "It would do no good; 
she would let him give us nothing more.” The old 
woman’s malicious face shone with her wicked glee. 
"Perhaps you might try, Eva.” 

"Are you thinking of the many times you pleaded for 
more. Aunt Norton?” Maude cried desperately. The 
shaft went home. "How dare you, Miss!” she glared 
at her niece; but Maude, now thoroughly aroused, 
was quite her match. "How dare you?” she returned, 
her black eyes blazing, "you did it ; on your knees 
you begged father for more than was given you, but 
I want to tell you once for all, that before I sink to 
that, I will step off the Brooklyn Bridge. True, I 
am your niece, but there the likeness ends.” She 
left the room, and Eva had to face alone the old 
woman’s insane anger. When at last she was gone, 
Eva sought her sister and dropped weakly into a chair. 
"Maude!” she gasped, "hovr could you? I thought 
she would die.” 

"I wish she would before she gets home to change 
her will,” Maude answered. "That would perhaps 
have helped us some.” 

"Well, we’ll never get it now,” wailed Eva. 

"Did she say so?” 

'*Say so! Heavens! If you could have seen her 
face.” Eva’s hands were trembling, her face was pale 
and even her nose was fading. 

"I couldn’t help it; she made me say it. I don’t 


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149 


believe she meant to leave us anything anyway/' 
Maude tried to reassure herself. 

For some months Mrs. Howard had been failing, 
but no persuasion upon Eleanor's part could induce 
her to forego the pleasures of society. She had be- 
come devoted to “bridge," and spent many hours of 
every day engaged in the game, first at one house, then 
another, and in this way used so much of her reduced 
strength that her health suffered perceptibly. “There 
is nothing at home but the baby," she complained, “and 
I must have some amusement." 

But the day came when she was unable to leave her 
bed, and soon the doctors gave the verdict. “Double 
pneumonia — a bad case." With all her failing strength, 
she clung to Eleanor and was never willing that she 
should leave her bedside. Night and day, she watched 
and ministered, foregoing more than glimpses of her 
boy. “Can't the nurses do all this?" Manning urged, 
noting her tired face. “You should save yourself 
for the boy." 

“The doctors say that additional excitement will 
kill her," she explained, “and as she is always begging 
for me, I feel that I must stay." 

“It will not be for long," said the doctors, and Elea- 
nor continued her service. After a long hard day and 
restless night, the sick woman opened her eyes. “Why 
don't you do — something — for me? I am sick — so sick 
— so sick — but you — do not — care," she quavered. 

“There, now, be quiet, and you will feel better," 
urged the nurse. 

“I will not. I'm tired of being quiet," the weak 
voice complained. “Lift me up — lift me up." 

“No, no," from the nurse. “Do not excite yourself; 
you must not, you must obey me." 


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'T will not/’ the thin voice rose almost to a shriek. 
'T will/’ and she lifted herself quickly, before they 
could prevent her. ‘"Oh!” cried the dismayed nurse, 
“you must lie down,” biit too late; the cruel strain 
had broken, and with a half-strangled cry, the sick 
woman fell upon her pillows. Her face, lately flushed 
with fever, turned a violet hue, and she was suddenly 
quiet. 

‘‘What is it?” Eleanor cried, bending over the bed, 
frightened at the rapid change. 

“Be brave, Mrs. Manning, she is dead.” 

All that day, the words beat into her brain. “She 
is dead! dead! dead! She is dead!” Through all 
their persistent reiteration, they seemed half meaning- 
less. “What is the reason?” she asked herself, “am 
I so heartless that I cannot grieve for my own mother? 
She is dead.” But the only answer was that precise 
repetition of sound: “Yes, dead; she is dead!” 

“It was the shock,” they . said, as they lifted Eleanor 
to the bed from the floor where she had fallen. When 
at last she was aroused, she found the house closed 
and quiet. The servants passed on tiptoe through the 
darkened rooms. Death had covered the place with 
his gloomy black pall, and the majesty of his mysteri- 
ous presence hushed every voice, and silenced every 
step. 

After her ' mother’s funeral, the quiet house 
oppressed Eleanor. Upon her heart lay a heavy weight 
that even the baby wiles of little Joe but half drove 
away. With self reproach, she acknowledged that the 
source of her unhappiness did not lie in her mother’s 
loss. “I am distressed ; of course I am. What woman 
could fail to be?” she mused, but there her sorrow 
ended. 


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151 


Little Joe crept to her side, and with all his might 
pulled on her skirts, demanding notice. She looked 
down at him, then stooped, and lifted him in close em- 
brace. ‘'What if the day should come that he should 
feel like this towards me?’’ She shuddered at the 
horrid possibility, and in her heart was registered the 
vow that “whatever the future brings, never while 
I have breath to refuse my consent, shall my child 
make for me the sacrifice of youth and love and all 
its rights, for by such things as these love often chills 
and dies.” 

Six months passed, and in that time Eleanor’s face 
showed plain traces of the cruel pressure under which 
she lived. Manning loved the child with as deep a 
love as was in his selfish nature to give, and found de- 
light in tracing resemblances to himself in each of the 
beautiful features of the baby face. 

This pastime almost maddened Eleanor, but Man- 
ning was too engrossed to often notice the anger on 
her part, or if he did, attributed it to “her woman’s 
jealousy.” 

"To think that you could look like him,” she panted, 
searching the little face, and thinking — thinking — 
thinking — 

“I’ll leave him in your hands for a little while, but 
when he outgrows his babyhood, you must then turn 
him over to me,” he told her one morning, when she 
had asked him not to interfere with the outlined 
routine of the child’s life. “You are positively spite- 
ful, Eleanor,” he declared another time. “It enrages 
you to see how much the baby loves me. It is dis- 
gusting to me to see a woman act as you do but you 
might as well realize that your jealousy shall not 
separate me and my son.” 


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''Your son, oh, my God! Your son. Never! He 
is mine, all mine,’’ her anguished jealous heart re- 
peated, still thinking, thinking, thinking — 

'‘Eleanor is not well, she needs a change,” Dr. 
Bryan told him, and Manning, fearful lest the boy lose 
his mother, agreed to send them away for several 
months with the intention of joining them later on. 

One day the servant brought a card: “Mr. Avery 
LeNoir,” she read. Who was it; where had she heard 
it before? There was a familiar sound to the name, 
although she could not place it, and was still wonder- 
ing when she entered the room where the visitor 
awaited her. Brown eyes and ruddy coloring bright- 
ened his handsome countenance. His dark hair was 
plentifully sprinkled with gray, and the silver tint 
lent an added air of distinction to his personality. “Do 
you know me?” a pleasant voice inquired, and the 
gentleman smiled, his brown eyes gleaming at her 
apparent confusion. “No,” she answered, “and yet 
I feel that I do.” Her large dark eyes were fixed on 
his, and there was a dawning pleasure in their depths. 

“I am your father’s cousin,” he answered, and 
grasped her quickly outstretched hand. 

“Ah, yes; from North Carolina. How glad I am to 
meet you!” in quick interest. “I have met so few of 
my father’s people ; in fact, you are the first in years ; 
and to know more of them has always been my cher- 
ished hope.” 

“And we, too, have hoped to know you,” he assured 
her. The genial nature of the South was in them both, 
and soon they grew fast friends. 

During his brief visit he urged her to come to the 
Old North State for recuperation. “In the branches 
of its tall pines, the breezes whisper of health and joy, 


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153 


and I know it will be good for you/’ Manning ap- 
proved the plan, and hastened her preparations for 
leaving. She chose Ashville as her first stopping 
place. Mr. and Mrs. LeNoir were to meet her there ; 
and she had promised to make them a visit at their 
home in Raleigh. 

“You cannot fail to enjoy Ashville,” Dr. Bryan told 
her, discussing the proposed trip, “it is one of the 
most lovely spots I ever saw, and its climate and 
beauty of scenery will soon make you over again, my 
dear.” 

“Going to North Carolina ! How strange, how 
strange!” he afterward mused. “The workings of 
Providence! If it should be! but even so, it is hardly 
likely that they two should meet.” 


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CHAPTER XIV 


High up the mountain, at Kenilworth Inn, Eleanor 
and little Joe found a temporary home. From that 
magnificent location the eye is met on every side by 
the wooded slopes of the surrounding mountain, green 
as emerald in the sunlight, but shading into darkness 
in the shadows, and into shifting opal hues of blue 
and lilac beneath the obscuring clouds that float 'round 
their summits. Far to the West, the mountains lie, 
their shadowy outlines half hidden by the mists. 

Two weeks of undiluted pleasure they spent to- 
gether, winding down the narrow paths, gathering the 
strange new flowers scattered profusely over the 
mountain sides, and searching the woods for ferns that 
everywhere bordered the rippling streams as they 
found their musical way from the eternal springs, 
where from the mountains down through the trees 
and flowers they flowed to empty themselves into the 
rushing waters of the river that bathed the mountain^ 
rocky foot. 

Each day developed its own new joy, and little Joe 
was like a thing demented by his happiness at the dis- 
covery of these hitherto unknown, undreamed of 
pleasures. His clear, white skin took on a browner 
tint ; his large, brown eyes sparkled more brightly, and 
the clear music of his laughter floated on the warm 


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155 


air; each note a gem in his mother's crown of joy. Be- 
tween themselves love seemed to find perennial 
springs of never-failing strength to feed anew their 
love. The people at the hotel grew familiar with the 
sight of them wandering off hand in hand, to explore 
some new nook, where ferns flourished or where 
daisies nodded their graceful heads on their long, up- 
right stems. Their rooms overflowed with the beauti- 
ful burdens with which their arms were filled, return- 
ing from these daily tramps. 

Two undisturbed and happy weeks were theirs be- 
fore Mr. and Mrs. LeNoir came. To them Ashville 
was an old story, but no one could tire of its pictur- 
esque beauty or fail to enjoy its bracing health-giving 
atmosphere. 

Mrs. LeNoir was a rather small, slender woman; 
her head, crowned with an abundance of red-brown 
hair, was well held upon her slender neck. Her clear, 
white skin was tinged with a delicate pink in cheeks, 
and rich scarlet in her curving lips. Her large, gray 
eyes gleaming brightly with animation, attracted 
everyone she met. More than merely pretty, she pos- 
sessed that rarest of all charms — the subtle fascina- 
tion by which a friend is made, and afterwards, kept. 
Between Eleanor and her a quick interest developed, 
and quite equal to their friendship was that which 
arose between Mr. LeNoir and little Joe. Without 
children of his own, and with few among his family, 
the man's heart went out to the engaging child, who, 
in that way seen oftenest in children and in dogs, re- 
sponded lavishly to his affection. Augmenting the 
slight relationship between them, he taught the child 
to call him '‘Uncle," and they became good comrades. 

Joe, desirous of revealing to his new confederate 


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the wonders of his recent discoveries, led him along 
the paths and streams, pointing out the springs that 
bubbled through the rocks, emptying their overflow 
into the clear waters of the nearby river. ‘Tt goes 
yite down to de wibber,’' he explained. ''Muddy taked 
off my shoes and tockings so I could wade. Ess us 
wade now, des you and me,’’ his brown eyes half shut, 
their smooth lids wrinkled in a quizzical smile of 
understanding. 

Before the coming of Mr. and Mrs. LeNoir, Eleanor 
and the boy had spent most of their time out of doors, 
rambling over the hillsides and through the valleys, 
listening to the calling of the birds, enjoying the all 
prevading naturalness of things, desiring little but 
themselves and the wild beauty ’round them. In the 
spirit of genial Southern hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. 
LeNoir pressed upon Eleanor the acquaintance of 
their Ashville friends, and through them it was that 
she first learned of the real South. 

"I am so delighted with your friends,” Eleanor ex- 
claimed to Mrs. LeNoir. "I never knew such lovely 
people lived on earth.” She half laughed at her super- 
lative words, and as if excusing her warmth, con- 
tinued: "You know I am half Southern, and I now be- 
lieve it is my greater half. I have grown to love it 
all so soon.” * 

"I wish we might keep you among us always,” Mrs. 
LeNoir responded. 

"You may, if you are not more careful how you dis- 
play your temptations,” Eleanor laughed again, as 
she uttered the light words, but to herself, she added : 
"I wish I might never see New York again.” 

At the end of their two months’ stay in Ashville, the 
LeNoirs returned to their home in Raleigh, and with 


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157 


them, Eleanor and the little child, now grown fast 
friends, for their promised visit. 

Mr. LeNoir had a great fondness for dogs, and in 
their home there were four occupying important 
places: Wiggles, Jap and Nick; three frisky young 
Scotch terriers, and Shirley, the mother of them all. Jap 
and Wiggles might lay claim to beauty, but Nick was 
bow-legged, shaggy and forlorn looking — as ugly as 
he was good, and as good as he could be. 

To Nick, little Joe immediately attached himself, 
and the child with the dog made a funny couple roam- 
ing ’round the big yard, chasing butterflies by day and 
lightning bugs at night. 

'‘He not plitty, but he so dood to me,” little Joe ex- 
plained. 

"Top! Jap, don’t shite my daug,” they heard his ex- 
cited cry, and hurrying to the scene, Mr. LeNoir 
turned, softly calling to his wife and Eleanor to wit- 
ness the struggle. Nick and Jap were in the throes 
of battle; snapping, snarling, biting and teasing each 
other, while Joe stood by, deep concern upon his face, 
calling out again and again: “Top, Jap! don’t shite 
Nick.” 

Wiggles heard the sounds of warfare, and came 
bounding over the lawn to the rescue of her beloved 
Jap, as if fearing injury for him at the hands of Nick, 
their joint enemy, and at her appearance, the battle 
grew more fierce. 

Shirley lay upon the steps in comfortable middle- 
aged lethargy, but lifted her head at the persistent 
yelping; then rising with a disapproving snarl, her 
hair bristling with anger at the public misbehavior of 
her children, she raced toward them, an angry ball of 
fur bearing swift punishment for the offenders. Into 


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the midst of them she jumped, distributing her angry 
snaps and snarls with impartial justice. 

This was too much for Joe, and despairing of Nick’s 
survival of the attacks of the combined forces, he 
plunged boldly into the melee, grasped Nick’s neck 
with two protecting arms, while with his sturdy little 
legs, he wielded swift blows upon the late assailants 
of his favorite. 

''Kit it! Jap — kit it Shaily! — do way, Widdles!” he 
cried in angry tones. ‘'Don’t you shite my daug!” 
The surprised dogs stood back from the fierce little 
legs, but Nick was choking in the tightly clasping 
arms, and struggled wildly to escape. The baby voice 
grew tender: "Be dood, Nick. I dot you, be dood,” 
-till reassured, Nick grew quieter, and holding tight 
around Nick’s shoulders, Joe sank upon the grass be- 
side him, and the boy and his dog thus challenged the 
world. 

The laughter of the watchers did not disconcert him, 
as he turned to them explaining: "I dot my daug. 
Dey was shitin’ he.” 

"By George ! he’s a plucky little chap,” Mr. LeNoir 
cried, admiringly, then turned to Joe: "You shall 
have Nick, Joe, since you have rescued him. He is your 
dog now, to keep, for always.” 

"An’ lib wiv me?” the child asked, his eyes bright 
and shining. 

"Yes, your own, to live with you always.” 

"Oh, doody! doody! doody! Nick’s my daug! Nick’s 
my daug!” he cried, jumping wildly up and down, 
then dashed to Mr. LeNoir and clasped him around 
the knees. "I lub you. Uncle Abewy, you’se dood to 
me,” he gratefully declared. 

The LeNoir house looked upon an immense front 


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159 


lawn, shaded with large trees and beautified by 
flowers. Raleigh is old and aristocratic, its residents 
acknowledged the superior birth and breeding of the 
old families, and even with the late influx of money 
and modernity, the difference is widely marked as is 
shown by the contemptuous comparisons of the serv- 
ants. ''Dey’s new folks. Ole Mistis is quality.'’ Mrs. 
Gregory,/ Mrs. LeNoir's mother, was ''Ole Mistis." 

The Gregory family homestead was a large Colonial 
mansion, built in the style of long ago, but unlike 
many of the old Southern homesteads, which have un- 
happily gone to ruin, this home was kept up as hand- 
somely as of old. The large lawns were smooth and 
green; the well-trimmed trees shaded the rustic seats be- 
low. Flowers grew where they had bloomed for more 
than a hundred years, dropping their seeds to come again 
in the selfsame spots with each succeeding spring. 
The furniture was as brightly polished as when first 
it graced the place when Mrs. Gregory's grandmother, 
in stiff brocade and rare old lace, swept from her 
coach, a new-made bride, to enter the home prepared 
with infinite pains by her handsome young husband, 
who held open the door, and bade her enter. From 
that day, the Gregory family had lived there, each 
oldest son occupying the old home with increasing 
pride. 

The Civil War, that devastated the South of the 
flower of her manhood, so thinned the ranks of the 
Gregory family, that after its close but few remained. 
Mr. Gregory, the oldest of his family, was the only 
one of four brothers to return from that unhappy 
struggle, and he came, bearing pistol wounds and 
sabre thrusts, mementoes of its deadly struggles. 
Though blessed with numerous children, J^ut three 


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now remained to them; two daughters, Mrs. LeNoir and 
Mary, a young girl of sixteen, and one son — Harold — a 
man of thirty years. 

Mary Gregory was a small, slender girl. Her curl- 
ing, brown hair was nearly black, and her dark, 
brown eyes were bright with a mischievous light. Her 
rich brunette skin was tinted like burnt ivory. She 
and her brother Hal were constant companions. 

'Tf you are not careful. Brother Hal, you will be 
too old and feeble to take me out,” she said one day, 
teasing him. 

'T think, perhaps some one might be found to take 
your old brother’s place, in such an extremity,” he 
laughed, pulling out a long, brown curl, that hung be- 
hind her ear. 

‘'Oh! Hal, I see you want to desert me. Don’t go 
back on me now about that hateful old school. You’ve 
always been my friend,” she pleaded, her arms around 
him, her face pressed close to his. 

“Be good another year, little girl, and you may then 
be free,” he promised in a whisper. 

“Really, Hal? Mother says two years.” 

“You be good and we will see.” 

“Oh, I will, if one hateful year is gone. You are 
a darling old angel, Big Brother,” and she hugged him 
frantically. 

“Ugh! what a little bear you are. You’ve broken 
my neck, I declare,” rubbing his neck in mock distress. 

Mary danced off laughing. “One year gone, one 
year gone, one year gone,” she chanted gaily, dancing 
around him. 

“Why, Mary, are you mad?” a laughing voice in- 
quired, and they turned to find Mrs. LeNoir and 
Eleanor coming up the path toward them. Mrs. 


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161 


Gregory sat in her own special summer-house, her 
favorite cross-stitch work in her busy hands. Upon 
the soft path the newcomers made little noise. ‘'Come 
in, my dears,” she invited them. 

‘Tt is so lovely out of doors to-day, that I left the 
house for the bright sunshine. Dear child” — she turned 
to Eleanor, taking her hand — “this is my boy, Harold ; 
Tve told you of him, you know. He made his mother 
happy when he came home last night.” 

Harold’s eyes met Eleanor’s; the loveliest eyes he 
had ever seen, the loveliest face, the loveliest woman ; 
and from that first look, his admiration quickened. 

“My mother has sung your praises, Mrs. Manning, 
since I arrived last night. I am delighted to meet 
you.” 

Eleanor’s face was rosy, and filled with laughter 
when she came up the path with Mrs. LeNoir, but 
suddenly the rosy tint retreated, and pallor overspread 

her face. 

The man’s voice gripped her heart with an iron 
grasp of tormenting doubt and memory. His gray 
eyes scanned her face, until she felt that she must die. 

“Oh, God! will he never look away,” her anguished 
heart cried, but with a great effort, she answered him, 
her heart almost stilled with the dread reality thrust 
upon it. How the morning passed, she hardly knew, 
in her fevered excitement, trying to appear at ease. 

On the return drive, Mrs. LeNoir said to her: “My 
brother insists that he must have met you previously. 
He says there is something which tells him that he has 
known you before.” 

“Such things are very strange,” Eleanor answered, 
not daring to be silent, though her voice was low and 
shaken. “But I think they often happen.” “Yes,” 


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Mrs. LeNoir proceeded, ‘'it almost leads one to be- 
lieve in the soul’s transmigration, and that we have in 
other worlds known and been known before we came 
to this.” 

Eleanor’s eyes were far away and dreamy, and the 
drive homeward was rather silent. 

That night, when her child was sleeping, she sank 
upon her knees beside her window, gazing into the 
night. “Why did I come — why did I come here? What 
shall I do? To face him again, I dare not. I am over- 
taken by my shame,” and her head fell upon the win- 
dow-seat as she crouched alone in the darkened room. 

At the end of the long hours, one thing was plain 
to Eleanor; that she could not retreat. Her first im- 
pulse had been to leave Raleigh and even the State, 
immediately, but a second thought had taught her the 
inadvisability of such a move. First: the offence to 
her hostess, who expected her to remain for the 
promised visit, and then, what would Gregory think? 
Might not the very act of her flight tend to disclose 
to him the secret of her identity. “No, no, I must face 
him, but how? God help me, I am punished indeed.” 
But by the time that light had vanquished darkness, 
all her plans were made. She would remain in Raleigh 
as she had promised, but concerning him, she would 
be so careful to avoid him, that no exchange of friend- 
liness might even be attempted. In her sophistry, she 
overlooked his part in the program, disregarded, too, 
the fact that already she had grown to love her ideal 
of an unknown man, and that when wounded nature 
cries aloud, reason’s voice is hardly heard. 

She believed she could conceal her identity. “I 
will go away as soon as an opportunity presents it- 
self,” she assured herself. Preparing to meet Gregory, 


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163 


as she knew she must, preparing also to shun his too 
close society, he grew to occupy her mind almost to 
the exclusion of other things. Even the child, about 
whom her tenderest love had wrapped itself, became 
no longer her only object. To evade him, to avoid 
him, and yet to do it without exciting his suspicions, 
she found it hard, for within a few days of their first 
meeting, Gregory plainly showed that his interest in 
her was intensely aroused, by the way his eyes fol- 
lowed her movements, in his manner of anticipating 
her every want, and more than all, by the light that 
filled his blue-gray eyes, and turned them into liquid 
sources of tenderness. He knew that she was trying 
to avoid him, and the reason sorely puzzled him. 
When the realization found its way to his impetuous 
heart, he grimly determined: ‘T'll find out why.’' 

'‘She shuns me,” he confided to his lone cigar, after 
leaving the LeNoir home. “Wonder what it is about 
me she dislikes so much. Fd like to know so *1 could 
change it.” As he laughed, the laughter held a note 
not all of pleasure. 

In her room, Eleanor was telling her reflection: “I 
have made him hate me. I saw it in his eyes when I 
refused to talk to him. Yes, he hates me, hates me and 
despises me.” Her eyes were feverish, and her hands 
clasped and unclasped themselves against her breast. 
“But how he would despise and scorn me if he knew 
the truth. Then he would spurn me from his sight; 
expose me to his people ; turn me from his sister’s 
house. I know the Southern idea — that man may fall 
away where’er he choose, but one false step on 
woman’s part, and she is past redemption. Oh! that 
I should have met him, and the sight of him should now 
so torture me! The look that comes into his eyes is 


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not always that of hatred, and when it comes, my soul 
trembles before it, like frail grasses in the breeze. 
Yes, and like the grass, I bow to earth under the com- 
pellment of his strength. But I must not succumb; 
I must struggle on against him, however hard the way 
may be, to prevent his finding out.” 

In the early morning sunshine, Eleanor, standing 
at her open window, after an unquiet night, was 
greeted by a sight that thrilled her heart with 
anguished dread; like an icy band it closed around it. 
Gregory, advancing toward the house, met the child 
playing with the dogs, and stopped to talk with him, 
his tall, straight form bent toward the laughing child, 
as he listened to his words. Suddenly he lifted his 
head and laughed aloud, and mingling with his mel- 
low tones, the childish voice chimed in. The watch- 
ing woman heard, and at the sound her heart con- 
tracted with quick pain ; then through her like a wave, 
surged upward from her beating heart a sudden 
‘ecstasy of joy. Through all her fear and dread, this 
joy found its way, and stronger than all else, drove 
fear and dread before it. Sweet and subtle, like the 
incense to the ancient gods, it spread throughout her 
soul; for nature had awakened, and demanded her 
own. 

A few mornings later, the little figure in the scarlet 
coat and cap, made an attractive spot of color flying 
over the lawn, followed and surrounded by the play- 
ful little dogs. Down the broad street a torn-down 
wagon plodded its slow way, while perched upon the 
insecure seat were two brown-faced pickaninnies 
whistling like bright-eyed birds. 

Joe stopped his play to listen to the boys, but Nick 
and Jap were unappreciative of the melody and dashed 


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165 


toward the gate in yelping wrath, threatening the in- 
truders on their peace, with voice and angry attitude. 
The music stopped with the wagon, while from the 
seat the pickaninnies laughed. ‘‘Dems bad dawgs, 
sho's you’ bawn,” one cried in glee. ‘‘Look at de little 
un — he’s mos’ es big es mah fis,” and again the happy 
laugh rang out. 

“See the long-legged un, ain’ he a sight? Sic ’im, 
Tige,” the other yelled at Nick, who barked and yelped 
more fiercely in return. 

Joe was quick to recognize the insult, and he, too, 
swelled with anger. “Top dat, nigger — do ’way,” he 
cried, imperiously. The brown faces convulsed anew; 
the red mouths stretched wide in laughter at the sight 
of the funny little figure of rage, standing within the 
gate. 

“Ain’ ’e mad?” one cried. “He’s a’ goin’ to eat us.” 

“I reckon we better git,” his companion answered, 
pretending fear. 

Just then Mr. LeNoir appeared at the door to in- 
vestigate the cause of the disturbance, but at the 
ludicrous sight that met him, he hid again to watch its 
termination. 

Down the street the wagon rolled, each wheel at a 
different angle, each of them emitting its separate 
creak of protest at the necessity to move. The old 
horse shambled lazily along, undisturbed by its driv- 
er’s sharp “gittap” or the familiar snap of the leather 
whip. 

Looking back, the boys cried: “Sic’ ’im, Tige,” and 
all the dogs joined in: “Bow-wow-wow — wow-wow!” 

At a loss to further vent his unappeased wrath, 
Joe stood a moment gazing at the retreating wagon; 
then as if struck by a sudden happy thought, he, too, 


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joined in the chorus: “Bo w- wow-bow- wo w-wow !” his 
little body bending back and forth, his whole frame 
convulsed by the fierceness of his assault. 

“Hello! Joe, have you turned dog?’’ a voice in- 
quired, as Harold Gregory, convulsed with laughter at 
the funny sight, came around the corner. “Tell me 
about it,’' he insisted, and Joe related the tale. 

“And so you barked at them with Nick, did you?” 
Mr. LeNoir had joined them, and Gregory winked at 
him, as he asked the question. 

“Ma’am — I did,” the child replied. 

During the days that followed, Eleanor found that 
she could not, without positive rudeness, avoid Greg- 
ory’s society, for he was determined that she should 
not evade him. With a lover’s eyes, he looked in hers, 
and saw therein what she believed she hid; uneasiness 
and nervous dread of his scrutiny. Although unable 
to solve the reason for its being, the way in which she 
vainly sought to shield herself hurt him, until one 
day, in an unguarded moment, the mask slipped aside, 
and beneath its shadow Gregory saw that which set 
his pulses bounding; his heart beating with unex- 
pected joy. The look was hidden again almost as 
soon as seen, for into his face had leaped an answering 
light to warn her of her danger. But Gregory did 
not forget the glimpse he caught, and the remem- 
brance of it robbed her coldness of its chill. 

In the meantime, since progress with the mother 
was so difficult to make, Gregory devoted his efforts 
to little Joe. Often he asked himself if it was alone 
because the child was hers, that his interest in him 
grew so intense. At first, obedient to his mother’s 
stern command, Joe held away from too close con- 


THE JUDGMENT 1%7 

tact witk kim. "‘No, muddy tolc me mot to tay wiv 
you/' he lisped. 

‘'Why did she say that, Joe, I wonder/' the man 
asked, half angry, half amused at the candor of the 
child. 

“You make my muddy ky," he explained. 

“How do you know? Tell me, little man," and his 
voice was very eager. 

“You talked to her de udder day, an' hurted her, 
cause she came in an' kied ; I kissed de ky away, I did." 

“And did she say I hurt her, Joe?" he asked again, 
in sober tones. 

“An' she hugged me up so tight, and telled me to 
lub her hard, cause I was all she got to lub her." 

“I'm very sure you needn't be the only one," Greg- 
ory remarked beneath his breath, but Joe only under- 
stood that the man was very kind to him, and that 
from this day he found a new and most indulgent 
friend. 

A week later Eleanor was seated in Mrs. LeNoir's 
honeysuckle arbor with Joe beside her. The vines 
were putting forth fresh sprigs of tender green, for 
spring was near at hand, and ere many weeks had 
passed would have emptied her storehouse of fra- 
grance and beautified the world with color and sweet- 
ness. Their visit was drawing to a close, and with 
its termination, a tender dreamy look had come to 
Eleanor's eyes. She was not aware of its presence, 
and did not know that it revealed to Gregory the 
secret which she strove to hide. Afraid of loving 
him, she was gradually growing to realize the fact 
of her love. “I must not think of him," she repeated 
again and again. But love refuses warning, and pur- 
sues it heedless way regarding neither friend nor foe. 


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‘‘Here he comes! here he comes!’' Joe cried, and 
dashed toward an advancing figure. He little knew 
that in his mother’s heart the same words sang; the 
same sight sent a thrill of indescribable joy in a mad 
race to her brain. The bright sun touched his dark 
hair inclined to curl, as he lifted his hat in greeting. 
Eleanor attempted an unconstrained smile, but one 
look in his face taught her that she could no longer 
escape him. Half frightened, she arose as if to 
attempt escape ; her color came and went rapidly ; her 
heart was palpitating fiercely ; and she stood, one hand 
pressed against it as if to still its tumultuous beating. 
Still his eyes searched her face and would not release 
her own ; held her spell-bound beneath his gaze, where 
adoring love stood plainly forth. He caught her 
hands. “There is no other way for me,” he told her, 
“but to go.” She bent her head, but did not answer. 
“I must not stay — my love would bring disaster.” 

“That could not be,” she whispered, her eyes alight, 
forgetting all but love. 

His eyes were reading hers, and the secrets there 
laid bare, set his heart to faster beating. Each read 
in other eyes, the story that has no need of words, and 
despite the coming parting, neither would forbear to 
read. But the silence ended. “Just once — let me say 
it.” His hands held hers against his breast; his eyes 
still pleaded, although his lips dared not express his 
longing. 

“You are — I know — not mine, but — I love you — love 
you — love you. Let me love you enough to go.” 

The tears that filled her eyes were half of pain, but 
the other half of joy, at his acknowledged love, and 
its answer in her heart. 

“A telegram for Mrs. Manning, ma’am,” announced 


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169 


Mrs. LeNoir’s servant. When she saw Eleanor’s face, 
Mrs. LeNoir asked quickly: ‘‘Oh! what is it?” 

“I must go to-day,” Eleanor answered, handing her 
the message: 

“Meet me at Ashville, Thursday. Must see the boy 
at once. 


'William Manning; 


170 


THE JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER XV 


Eleanor found Manning awaiting her coming, ap- 
parently possessed by the demons of unrest and dis- 
content. 

At one time, he discovered cause for complaint in 
her every action, then suddenly a change would come, 
and in his embrace she found greater punishment than 
his displeasure held. 

'T have given up all other women/’ he assured her, 
again and again: care nothing for them now, not 

one.” 

If, before she reached North Carolina, her marriage 
had grown irksome, it now became so deep, so vile an 
ignominious distress, that each look, each touch and 
each word of passing tenderness from him renewed 
her torture. 

'Tf he beat me instead,” she moaned to herself in 
the solitude; ''if I could only choose again the insults 
and the bare-faced neglect which he gave me before 
my baby came. But this, this horrible loving on his 
part, while all the time my soul cries for another — oh ! 
my God, let it end some way!'' 

But if Manning saw, he did not suffer from it. He 
was quite well content since she had given him a child. 
"She was never very loving,” he told himself, when 
her haste to quit his arms could not be hid. "When 


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171 


will you learn to love me, too?” he asked her, catching 
her unaware, rapt in the child, murmuring her devo* 
tion in his ear. “He makes me love you more,” he 
explained in painful detail ; and she must listen with 
her mother love crushed down and beaten back into 
her heart by the flood of hate for him fast rising. “If 
I could only understand you,” he argued. “Your face 
is almost guilty when I come upon you with the boy. 
You are always loving him, and why not me? I can- 
not understand you.” 

“Would to God you did,” she raged, when he left 
her, unappeased. “Oh ! that I might make you under- 
stand with hands to rend and tear, with feet to crush 
and lips to tell of loathing. If I might only dare ex- 
press my hate of you — you beast. You, who made 
of me what he would call me, if he knew it all. You 
sunk me in this hell of anguish where I can look above 
and see and long for my lost mate, and the love I 
might have had. Oh, my God! — or if I dare not say 
my God, who feel so lost, so sunk in infamy and the 
sins of my hated bondage, then to the God of pity, 
God of mercy, let me pray, to end it. Grant me my 
liberty, O God! or let me die.” 

Four weeks she spent with Manning — spent them, 
since she must, in the way the law provides, ’till every 
heartbeat of soul grew mutinous and mad. 

“I must leave you to-morrow,” he told her one morn- 
ing, after his mail had come, “but not for long. I 
will return as soon as possible.” 

But even in his absence, her self-torture remained, 
for as long as there is life, there is conscience to re- 
member ; there is a heart to long for happiness, and to 
sicken when it is denied, and even with her child, a 
change had come. He was no longer now an un- 


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diluted joy, for in their intercourse, a strange new 
note had crept, and she had grown to see in all his 
baby ways a likeness, faint, intangible, and perhaps, 
imaginary, to him who filled her thoughts. The idea 
tantalized and pursued her to a state that bordered 
upon sickness. Her face grew white and drawn, and 
'round her large, dark eyes misery cast its shadows. 

“Muddy, don't ky. I lub you." The baby voice was 
sweet with the wish to comfort her, and the child 
reached up to her loving arms, in whose shelter her 
trembling lips and brimming eyes found refuge. Then 
Gregory came. The spring air was cool towards eve- 
ning and the fire in the grate cast a fitful light on the 
two before it locked in each other's arms. Thus he 
found them. The little head grown heavy, the white 
lids drooped over the dream-filled eyes, Joe lay sleep- 
ing in his mother's arms. Against the crimson velvet 
of the high-backed chair, her head rested. Another 
pair of white lids had drooped and hid her tired eyes. 
She slept and did not hear the opening door, nor the 
voice of the maid announcing his name. The door 
closed softly and the man advanced toward the quiet 
figures half hidden in the big-armed chair where the 
baby lay, clasped in his mother's arms, a sweet smile 
on his face. Upon the mother's face no lingering trace 
of smiling could be seen. Instead, her face showed 
signs of suffering that pinched it into unaccustomed 
sharpness. The dark circles beneath the eyes were 
brought out cruelly, in the flickering glow of the fire. 
Gazing at them, the watcher caught his breath 
sharply. At the slight sound, Eleanor opened her eyes 
towards him. She did not move, but gazed at him as 
if still asleep and dreaming. “You?" Her lips framed 
the word, but her voice was hardly audible. 


THE JUDGMENT 173 

‘‘Yes, dear, I,” he answered softly, holding out his 
hands. 

The sound of his voice broke the sleepy spell, and 
the quick blood flooded her face with its rosy glow. 
She tried to rise, still holding the sleeping child. “I 
thought I dreamed,’’ she murmured in confusion. 

“No, I have come,” he told her. “I could not, would 
not stay away, since I have heard it all. I did not 
try to take you from him before I knew your martyr- 
dom ; but now that I do know him as he is, you shall 
no longer stay. Mine, in our hearts, you are and 
mine before the world you soon shall be.” He took 
from her the sleeping child and laid him down, still 
sleeping; unconscious witness of their love. 

Eleanor hardly stirred. Surprise and wakening joy 
at the sight of him half stunned her. Her eyes upon 
his held him. 

“Speak, dear one, speak,” he urged, “tell me that 
you are glad.” 

She did not answer, and in her eyes, he read an 
awful fear. 

“Sweetheart !” he cried. Slowly she shook her head. 
“No! no!” she whispered brokenly, and at the words, 
a tear found freedom, and marked a path down her 
white face. With sudden force he caught her hands. 
“Eleanor, look at me! Look up, and say you love 
me. That is all I want to know. Say it. If you love 
me, tell me. Do you love me?” Still no answer but a 
soft low moan. “Then say you do not love me?” His 
voice grew harder, and he tightened his hold with cruel 
force. “Say it; if that is true, say it.” 

“I cannot,” she whispered with a sob, respondent to 
his masterful command. 

It was she who spoke at last. “Are you sure?” 


174 


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"'Sure?’’ he replied, '‘Yes, at last, thank God, I am 
sure.” His voice was reverent, and almost grave. 

"No matter what shall come?’' she asked softly. In 
a louder tone, as if to challenge all the world, he 
answered her: "Yes, no matter what comes, — no mat- 
ter who says 'Nay' — beyond all obstacles, above and 
over all, since your heart answers you are mine.” 

A long, long minute passed ere either spoke again. 
Folded in close embrace, he held her; heart on heart, 
and lip on lip, revealing all love’s secrets. 

The next day driving along the shady road where the 
tall trees met above them, and all was silent in the deep 
forest shade, a sudden impulse seized him. "Eleanor,” 
he began, "there is a thing I want to tell you, and yet I 
hardly can. I know you love me ; you prove it by your 
eyes, your lips ; all your sweet self repeats the glorious 
truth. I believe you have given me the first and only 
love of your life. Is it true, Eleanor?” and he awaited 
the answer which he knew would come. On her face 
a tender smile appeared. 

"Yes, dear, but for you and little Joe, I would not 
have known what love means.” 

" 'Tis this that makes my story hard for me.” 

In sudden fright she turned to him. "You do not 
mean, oh, Hal, you do not mean that you have not 
given me all your heart; you love me Hal — you love 
me — say you do !” 

"Yes, I do dear one ; I love you better than the world, 
and yet, I can’t explain it well, I know, — there was a 
time when you had a rival.” 

"Oh, Hal, you cannot mean it! It can’t be true I” 
and apprehension shook her voice. 

"Not now, sweetheart, not now. You may be sure 
that in my heart there lies no thought, that is not 


THE JUDGMENT 


175 


yours. No image but your own. 'Tis a strange story, 
and hard to understand, but somehow I want to tell 
you now. Once on a time I met a woman, her name 
and station does not matter. She may be beautiful or 
good, I do not know. I did not know her long. But 
this is where my story lies. I met her under strange 
circumstances; when she was sunk in great despair. 
Her anguish broke my heart; has tortured me for 
years. I lost her as completely as though she had 
never been, and though I searched, I searched in vain ; 
I could not find her. None other took her place, for 
her soul had called to mine in that hour of trial, and 
mine had answered.” 

His voice stopped. Eleanor said not a word, but 
her eyes were fixed upon him as though she could not 
take them away. He felt her gaze, and looked past 
her between the trees. 

‘T was never satisfied to relinquish the hope of meet- 
ing her,” he at last went on, ''until you came. When 
I saw you, your coming cast behind me every other 
thought, for I knew you for mine, at once. Now I have 
ceased to think of her, or if I do, it is of a longing satis- 
fied, for though it may seem strange, dear, try to under- 
stand, I feel besides your own place in my heart, you 
have also taken and filled hers.” 

While he waited for her reply, Eleanor dared not 
trust herself to speak. 

"Well, dear?” he questioned, since he must hear her 
voice. 

"It is well, dear,” she whispered when she could, 
"for all is well between us.” 

"I knew your noble heart, dear one,” he congrat- 
ulated himself. In the relief that having told his 
secret, he saw nothing but love in Eleanor’s eyes as he 


176 


THE JUDGMENT 


kissed her. ‘T am so glad Fve said it, dear. Of course, 
it was nothing at all at the time — not like real love 
anyway, but I simply could not have a secret of any 
kind between us.*' 

‘‘A secret between us," her heart repeated. “No! 
No 1 I will not think of it. I will be happy now." 

For those few days together, Eleanor shut her ears 
to any argument, but those of love. With every hour, 
her love for Gregory seemed to deepen, and his for her 
was boundless. 

When conscience tried to whisper, she crushed it 
back. — “No, no, not now," rejecting all its pleas. But 
no human force, however strong we deem it, can cope 
with the divine spark which dwells within us all. 
For a time we may believe that we can silence the still 
small voice reminding us of our misdeeds, but in the 
end it triumphs over all our arguments, and brings us 
shamed and overtaken to the realization that we have 
tried to pit our feeble human strength against the power- 
ful forces of Almighty God. 

And it was thus with Eleanor. Through the days 
they spent together she thrust behind her with a 
fevered strength all her other thoughts, and clung to 
Gregory. She did not know that in her eyes he read 
the fears that lay but half asleep within her heart. 

“Just a little while," she pleaded, when he begged 
her to hasten the suit for divorce. “Just a few days 
for happiness before I must go into all these awful 
things again." And though he too feared that which 
cast the shadows, mirrored in her eyes, he could not 
thrust her out of their new paradise, but consenting 
to delay, held her close, and told her again and again 
the story to w'hich she so eagerly gave ear — ^the old, 
old, but ever new story of man's love for woman, 


THE JUDGMENT 


177 


and man’s desire for woman’s love. While her lips 
told him, her eyes repeated the fulfillment of his 
love, and the love which stirred her heart responsive to 
his wooing, until the fears perforce must hide again, 
biding their time. 

''Have I forgotten you, my baby?” she asked her- 
self one night, as she sat watching the sleeping child. 
"Do I love you less because I now can love him too? 
Ah ! no it is not so ! It shall not be that I may not have 
both. Baby, baby drive away the fears. Do not let me 
even think them. You are mine forever, darling, and I 
dare to hope that he shall be.” 

July came, and the days over-ran with sunshine. 
Somewhere, July may not be the month of universal 
choice, but in Ashville each season as it comes, dis- 
plays such lavish treasures of beauty and delight, that 
the onlooker cries again: "This is the one for me.” 

The early mornings found them filled with rapture 
at the rare delight of Nature’s loveliness when she 
wakes from her sweet refreshing sleep, and gathers 
together her colors, her odors and her songs, like a 
siren planning to enchant thereby the hearts of men. 

Through the fresh morning, each moment was a pearl, 
which strung themselves into the hours to circle round 
the day; each hour enfolded some new joy for love 
helped them thereat, and whispered his suggestions. 

The full noontime expressed the fullness, and the 
passion of their love. Even the evenings did not 
chill, but with a tender sweet caress lulled them to 
sleep with love and joy enthroned triumphant in 
their hearts. 

For more than a week, they spent the time like 
this, but then a summons came for Gregory. "I ought 


178 


THE JUDGMENT 


to go/' he said. He looked at Eleanor with eyes that 
seemed to say he could not. 

‘'But you must, Harold dear," she answered him 
in quick decision for his interests, even if against love's 

sake. 

“It can't be long, and I’ll wait for you here, think- 
ing of you all the time." 

“And loving me?" he asked, not from doubt, but 
for the sake of hearing once again the sweet assur- 
ance. 

“Yes loving, loving; every minute, every hour, with 
all my soul, with every fibre, every beat of my heart 
which is yours," she answered, pressed close against 
him. Thus again they each forgot the world. 


THE JUDGMENT 


179 


CHAPTER XVI 


In the days that followed Gregory’s departure, 
Eleanor roamed with little Joe over the beautiful 
grounds, played hide and seek in the maze, rowed on 
the lake, swung under the trees, or lay beneath them, 
listening to the stories told by the winds and repeated 
by the rustling leaves. Many fairy stories were 
invented during that time, trying to forget her loneli- 
ness in the pleasure of the child. 

''Do you love me sweetheart?” she asked, her heart 
hungering for the assent which she knew would come. 

"Ma’am,” with quick assurance, then with a flood 
of tenderness, he flung his little body on her as she 
lay upon the soft green grass. "I love my muddy lee 
bes’, lee bes in lee worl,” he declared, holding her tight. 

They clung close for a sweet moment; mother and 
child in that embrace, the sweetest known to life. 

There may be moments when man’s love and wo- 
man’s seem so full and so complete that nothing could 
exceed its rapture, but this is not to be compared to 
the ecstasy that floods a mother’s heart when her child 
clings to her with love and loving words. Each tone 
of the baby’s voice is to her a jewel of the purest ray, 
each smile a priceless treasure, each touch a rapture un- 
paralleled. 


180 


THE JUDGMENT 


Sometimes these mothers do not seem to know it 
’till the baby’s form is still and cold, the sweet voice 
forever silenced, the little hands stretch out no more, 
and the smile is no longer seen. But there are others 
whose eyes open to these joys when first their arms 
enfold the longed-for child. To such as these, fate 
is indeed a friend when she has given them not only 
love in this sweet guise, but added to their lot a pas- 
sion and enduring love for the father of their children. 

One afternoon when driving, Joe’s quick ears heard 
a burst of music, and he turned his head demanding: 
‘'Muddy, hear lee mugit? I want to go,” ’till they 
drove toward the sound. 

As they neared the open square around which Ash- 
ville is built, the source of the music was discovered 
in a Salvation Army band upon one corner. 

Several women and three men composed the band. 
The faces of the women bore proof of long hours of 
work, and much exposure ; but amongst them all, there 
was not one whose countenance did not reveal a quiet 
joy. 

Upon one homely face there shone such a light of 
joy, that it attracted Eleanor’s special attention. 
Never in her life before, had she come so nearly into 
touch with the Salvation Army, and before this time 
she had, as have many others who do not seriously con- 
sider them, given them a tardy tolerance very nearly 
like contempt. 

Joe, too, was interested. He stood upon the seat, his 
big eyes fixed upon them as they sang, to the unmusical 
accompaniment of their battered instruments. Their 
songs were in no degree artistic, and there was among 
them all, not a single voice to strike a sensitive ear pleas- 
antly ; however, there was something that could not be 


THE JUDGMENT 


181 


overlooked, which rose from the small band of hard- 
worked, common-place street musicians, and said to those 
with ears to hear, “I come from God.’’ 

Joe’s observant eyes recognized the presence there 
of something he had not often seen, and he turned to 
the older intelligence beside him, demanding : “Muddy, 
shut makes lee man be so glad?” He pointed to the one 
whose face shone brightest, the one about whom Eleanor 
too was wondering. 

“What makes the man glad, darling,” she repeated 
after him, while all at once she asked herself — “Do I 
know? Can I understand his joy?” 

Her soul responded to the query, and for the first 
time in her life the answer that it made struck at the 
doors of her heart a blow that resounded through her 
being. 

“I do not know,” she said, and her voice sounded 
dully to her ear, “I do not know.” 

Near their carriage, stood a laughing group of girls 
and boys, and one, more forward than the rest, laughed 
loudly as she said: “I’ve always said that the Sal- 
vation Army women must be consecrated to be willing 
to wear those awful hats.” 

At the laughter following her remark, one of the 
women in the band turned toward them, and Eleanor 
looked well into her face. Although she had heard the 
careless words, her face showed no resentment. In- 
stead, her soft grey eyes seemed filled with pity for the 
one who spoke, and for the others who had laughed. 

She had risen above vanity, and with a saint’s forbear- 
ance spoke to the girl. 

“Thank you, and God bless you, my Sister,” she 
said; and the girl made her way through the crowd, 
shamed by the look upon the woman’s face. 


182 THE JUDGMENT 

Again Eleanor’s soul whispered: ‘T do not know 
of such as this.” 

Those who possess riches, generally answer the 
voices in the way that Eleanor tried. She gave her 
money ; and the sweet half sad voice said to her as 
she extended it : ''God bless you, my Sister.” 

At the repeated words, and the familiarity of the 
phrasing, her aristocratic inner self shrunk back. "Sis- 
ter!” it whispered, "Sister! how insolent!” 

At her order, the carriage moved on, but the hours 
could not dispel the impression the singers on the 
street had made. Over and over she saw the strange 
light that irradiated the homely face of the man, and 
again and again she heard the words — "God bless you, 
my Sister.” 

Surely there was no insult intended, for the soft 
voice was like a benediction. "Sister! What did it 
mean? Nothing but the stock phrase of an ignorant 
sect; religious fanatics roaming the streets making a 
public exhibition of themselves,” she repeated, all this 
and more wooing the sleep that would not come to 
her. "Sister! and the light on the man’s face!” She 
was still thinking of it when at last sleep came. 

How often has it been that we have waked from 
sleep at once deciding to arise? The day held some- 
thing of too much import for us to waste the early 
hours remaining in our beds. Sleep was gone, chased 
far away by a strange presentiment that cannot be 
explained, and ever defies description. We may not 
tell of it, but we all know it, when it comes. It sets 
our hearts to beating to a faster time, and sends our 
blood racing in our veins, lends to our eyes a new 
brightness ; making ready for what is on its way. 

That day, this was all true with Eleanor. She woke 


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183 


early, though it was late when she had gone to sleep. 
As soon as her eyes opened, she knew she could not sleep 
again. The very air seemed laden with a secret meant for 
her intelligence, but finding a barrier could not make its 
way within. ‘‘What is it?'' she asked herself, but 
her only answer was the memory of a street musician's 
homely face, filled with a strange light that she could 
not understand, and the voice of one of his comrades 
declaring her “my Sister." 

“How foolish!" she cried impatiently, “I am posi- 
tively silly in my childish nervousness," but despite all 
her efforts, the memories clung. 

To break into her persistent thoughts, she decided to 
make a morning call. Once outside, the motion of the 
carriage, and the brisk breeze seemed to waken her to 
other things. 

When she reached her destination, she felt that the 
drive had done her good. Her friend met her, dressed 
for the street, and Eleanor exclaimed : “Oh ! what 
will you think of me? I had actually forgotten it 
was Sunday." 

Mrs. Clayton laughed, and would not hear a word of 
all she said. “No, no," she cried, “you came the very 
day you should, for now you can meet the Bishop." 

“The Bishop ! What Bishop ?" Eleanor exclaimed. 

“Why! don't you know? Do you never read the 
papers ?" Her friend laughed at her mystified face. 

“I read the papers, but I haven't read anything about 
a Bishop," Eleanor answered 

“Well, now you are going with me to hear him. He 
is to dine with me, and I will only be the happier if 
you will consent to join us." 

“Oh, no, I couldn't do that, thank you," Eleanor 
replied. “But tell me is this the Texas Bishop about 


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whom the Raleigh papers have printed such eulogies 
lately? You surprised me so, that, at first, I did not 
think of him.’^ 

“Yes, it is he, and if you do not wish to lose a rare 
treat you will come with me/’ 

Eleanor knew not why, for she very seldom went to 
church, but she was persuaded to go. The church 
was filled with a softly chastened light, falling through 
the window in shafts of varicolored hues. The choir 
had not come in, but already there was present that spirit 
of reverence which never fails to affect us. 

When Mrs. Clayton sank to her knees before she 
took her seat, Eleanor wondered if she really prayed, 
or if she only seemed to pray because it is the habit 
of the Episcopalians to kneel when a church is entered. 

Soon the organ notes were heard; at first soft and 
sweet and tender. The music seemed to describe a 
mighty love. Its early accents were but whispers, 
telling of the depths beyond.. 

Then came the louder notes, richer, stronger and ful- 
ler, as if the love behind the music could no longer ex- 
press itself in whispers, but must pour forth its strength 
in greater volume. 

With the music came the choir; the triumphant 
processional came from their throats as if laden with 
the full forces of human souls. 

The rector of the church followed the choir, his clear- 
cut almost boyish face was grave but tender, as if it 
had been glorified and blessed by the ministry to which 
he had been called. After him, in stately dignity, 
walked the Bishop. 

Eleanor could not forbear a long look at him, as 
he passed near her, and as she looked, an inward rec- 
ognition of his magnetic personality possessed her. 


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185 


Tall and impressive of carriage, his splendid head, with 
its fringe of silvery hair; his scholarly face where ming- 
led dignity and kindliness, seemed to tell the charm 
of the man, and added to this was the touch of saintli- 
ness given by his lifetime's work for humanity. 

The full lace ruffles fell over his hands crossed to- 
gether as he walked toward that altar on which he 
laid his talents; dedicated and consecrated his life's 
abilities to the service of his Master. Behind him, 
fell the rich folds of his black satin gown, which open- 
ed on his breast displaying the sheer whiteness under- 
neath. The stole fell on either side, bordering the 
black gown's opening, and against the white, the 
colors of its rich embroidery were seen. From his 
shoulders hung his scarlet Oxford cape, the brightest 
spot in all that sober-hued procession. 

When the opening hymn was finished, the Bishop's 
voice rang out; ‘'The Lord is in His holy temple; let 
all the earth keep silence before Him." No one ever 
heard that great voice unless it thrilled him. Even its 
tones are eloquent, and when such tones are joined to 
noble thoughts grandly presented, then indeed you 
feel the spell it casts around you. 

If some divines save themselves, their voices amd 
their strength, solely for their sermons, this one did 
not. Throughout the impressive service, his full, rich, 
sonorous tones pervaded the place ; filled it with 
music, sung through the air with a triumphant note, 
or sunk to pleadings in the fervent prayers. Every 
gesture, every pose was grace, though all unconscious 
of it. On his knees, his figure as well as his voice 
seemed pleading at God's throne for mercy and for- 
giveness for the souls he led ; the sheep within his fold. 

No quick mumbling of unintelligible words from 


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him. Every word, every syllable was as clear as a 
drop of dew, and like the dew, seemed meant to em- 
bellish into greater beauty the flowers of his speech. 

Eleanor felt as if some overweening force had come 
down from another land, and grasping her trembling 
heart bade it awake and receive that greatest gift, the 
realization of the immortality of human souls. 

Throughout the service she felt this power, but the 
first impression of that wonderful voice never left her. 
Through the humble confession of human unworthi- 
ness, she heard its clear tones, over the hum of the 
congregation’s mingled voices. It stirred her slumber- 
ing conscience, ‘'Almighty and most merciful Father; 
We have erred and strayed from Thy ways like lost 
sheep. We have followed too much the devices and 
desires of our own hearts. We have offended against 
Thy holy laws. We have left undone those things 
which we ought to have done; and there is no health 
in us.” 

In the unhappy past, sorrow, suffering and bitter- 
ness had filled her heart and mind, and left no room 
for the tender sentiments of Christianity to take firm 
root and if perchance one found its way into the 
darkness of her saddened heart, a ministering angel 
to her soul, the straying beam of light was soon ex- 
tinguished by the fell demons of the nether world, re- 
sentment, hate and bitterness worse than death, be- 
cause it will not die. 

Even her idolatrous love for her child had not been 
unmixed with taint. There is but one thing that ever 
can remove from human hearts the stings of con- 
science. This is God’s love, and God’s forgiveness. 
Only by His expiation, can we hope to have our dire 
misdeeds washed out. 


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187 


But Eleanor had not this comfort. She had grown 
to scoff at the reputed religion which prays on Sun- 
day, sinning doubly all the week. 

Even in the tenderness of mother love, she could 
never forget the desperation preceding the coming 
of her child, and gazing into his eyes, she often mused: 
‘‘To have this joy, I had to sink'' — but as often as it 
came she fought back the dreadful thought, afraid of 
the final words. 

All this and more came back to her, on her knees 
listening to that voice, and as she heard, her soul made 
its first yearning cry for higher things in its response 
to the congregation's acknowledgment of sinfulness. 
Through all the service, all the prayers, the words 
seemed meant for her. “How blind, how blind, I have 
been !" she murmured, “and oh my God, how sinful !" 

Then came that story which means everything to 
the world. The story of Christ's love. His life. His 
suffering and His death. She had known it always 
as all civilization knows it. She believed the story? 
Yes, of course, she knew the truth, but not before had 
the realization come that it meant very much to her. 
Now, all at once, she knew. That immortal part of 
humanity stirred and whispered condemnation of her 
sin. It told her, too, the story of her weakness; it 
made her know that only by God's far reaching grace 
could she hope to be saved from the pit her sins had dug. 

She could no longer silence that insistent voice. It 
shook her soul with a power she hitherto had never 
known. It told her that she need not hope to silence 
it, or again to thrust it back into oblivion, refusing 
to hear its cries. No, no, not now ! She knew her- 
self, and as she knew, she shuddered from the knowl- 
edge that had come. “Condemned ! Lost ! By my 


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own acts. Lost!” conscience cried, bewailing all its 
sins and sinfulness. 

The knowledge of unworthiness possessed her soul. 
She felt that she had put herself beyond the pale. 'T 
have,” she cried, ''only myself to blame. I have 
turned my back on God! I have refused to hear Him, 
when I knew full well what He would say; and now 
will He hear me? Can I expect Him to listen to me 
when I refused to think of Him? Oh, my blindness! 
And now, perhaps, I am too late. Perhaps I have let 
slip the time when I might have claimed His grace. 
Havel? Havel?” 

Her soul had truly wakened, and its sore distress 
brought to her face that look, which, having seen, is 
not soon forgotten. 

And indeed, there is no tragedy greater than that which 
comes when for the first time we see and understand 
our own unworthiness. That first discerning look 
into the inky chasms we have called our hearts, when 
instead of love and light we thought therein, we find 
the darkness peopled with the leering visages of sin 
and death. 

The Bishop’s sermon was such as few can preach. 
As he began to speak, everyone within the portals of 
the church left his own thoughts to hearken to the 
beauties of those which he expressed for them. 

He did not tell of God as dealing vengeance with a 
mighty arm. He did not speak of an unending hell, 
where flames unceasingly consume the suflFerers who 
have sinned too many times. He did not threaten of 
the wrath of God against a sinful world. He told of 
God omnipotent, forgiving all, and in the end, extend- 
ing mercy with a gentle hand to those who beg Him 
for it. He told of pity for the sufferings of our hearts. 


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189 


He offered surcease for our sorrows; he promised 
healing for our pains. 

He said no mother’s love was half so soft as that 
which filled the gentle breast of Him who gave His 
life that we might live forever; who bent with loving 
touch, and blessed the little children in His path. He 
told them of the erring woman brought to Him for 
punishment, and how He lifted her and dried her sor- 
rowing tears with gentle, pitying words. 

He said we must not spend onr lives in sad repin- 
ings, even if the backward path were strewn with sins 
as black as night. ''The future is your own,” he said, 
"to make it what you will ;” begged them to take it as 
a gift that day, fresh from the hands of God. 

"Do not,” he cried, "think to undo the past. Tis 
God’s will that this cannot be. Let it lie, just as it is. 
God will attend to that. The future is for you to 
fill with righteous deeds; with deeds of love, deeds 
of kindness, deeds of mercy and of charity. If you do 
this, ’tis all that you can do. Lay these gifts at your 
Master’s feet, and He will bend a smiling face, and 
greet you when you come.” 

No one who heard him could have gone away with- 
out the feeling in his heart, that he had listened to a 
message sent from God, and that he who bore it was 
inspired by Him, to tell them of God’s mercy and 
God’s love. 

Eleanor’s heart had bled before, but with the sweet 
assurance of his words, the anguish lifted just a little 
way, and hope appeared — a tender, timid ray of hope 
for mercy undeserved. Yet, timid as it was, it lived 
and grew and blossomed and would not be thrust 
aside. 


190 


THE JUDGMENT 


At every doubt assailing it, she heard the Bishop’s 
voice again declare a way, whereby her hopes might 
live, and when he raised his hands above them in n 
final benediction, she knew that never in the world 
would she be again content until she had that won- 
drous peace of which he said: '‘The peace of God 
which passeth all understanding keep your hearts and 
minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of His Son, 
Jesus Christ, our Lord; and the blessing of God 
Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, 
be amongst you and remain with you always.” 

She went home, but could not rest, for she had not 
that peace for which her heart was longing. To com- 
munion with God she could not gain admittance. 
"Outside the pale!” she cried again, "but I want to 
be — oh, God, I want to come within !” 

The hours of the day were very long. Over and 
over temptation came, whispering: "Put it away. You 
are happy; put away the thought.” But Satan’s wiles 
cannot prevail against the might of God; neither can 
he draw back from Him a human soul that clings and 
prays and wishes to be saved, for after all, it is God’s 
hand upholding us. Our feeble strength would soon 
succumb, our grasp on that great Rock of Ages would 
weaken till we fell again into the darkness, whence 
we came, but God lends to our feeble efforts His own 
mighty power, and with it we can conquer all. 

"We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.” She 
heard again the Bishop’s voice, as in memory his ear- 
nest tones came to her, and she fancied she could hear 
him praying: "Son of God, we beseech Thee to hear 
us. Oh, Lamb of God, who takest away the sins 
of the world ; grant us Thy peace. Oh I Lamb of God, 
who takest away the sins of the world; have mercy 


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191 


upon us,” and to this her burdened soul responded: 
‘"Have mercy, Lord, have mercy.” 

She knew so little of God. No Christian influence 
had surrounded her youth, and she had thought that 
she could live without Him. But now she knew it 
was not so. Her boasted strength was gone. Now, 
all for which she dared to hope was mercy and for- 
giveness, and an opportunity to prove her late repent- 
ance. Though God offers us this chance, we do not 
always grasp it when it comes. But this was not so 
with Eleanor. ‘T wish I might see him,” she mused, 
until the impulse was too strong to resist it longer. 

She wrote a note to the Bishop at her friend's 
house, asking: ''Can you spare a little while to a soul 
in deep distress? If it is not too much to ask of you, 
my carriage will await you.” And as soon as he read 
the words, the Bishop came. 

She was waiting for him, in a fever of unrest, for 
fear he might refuse. As he entered the door, she 
went toward him rapidly. "Oh ! sir, I feared you 
might not come,” she said. Her face showed her 
distress, and to his experienced eyes, it told her story 
— the story of an anxious soul. 

"Not come, my child,” he answered, and when she 
heard his gentle voice, her heart leaped in her breast 
with renewed hope. "I trust I never may refuse to 
come. I am, you know, God's servant.” 

’ "Oh, teach me, sir, I beg!” the eager words came 
fast, "the way to go — until to-day, I did not know that 
I was lost. But now I see ; I feel that I have gone so 
far astray that God can hardly hear me when I cry. 
I could not bear the awful fear that I have gone too far to 
find my way again, and so I dared to send for you. 


192 


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Perhaps He will hear your voice. Tell me, does He 
refuse forgiveness when you ask Him for it?'’ 

The old man's face was very tender, and his voice 
was very sweet as he replied: "'You need not fear. 
God never will refuse to hear. He always grants us 
mercy and forgiveness." 

‘‘Always?" she questioned further. “Is there no 
doubt? Are you sure of this?" 

“So sure that all of life grows pale beside the splen- 
dor of that certainty," he reassured. “There is no 
other thing but this, that makes life worth the living. 
Even to the brightest lives there come some days of 
pain, and then we feel the glory of God's love and the 
bright promise of that great world to come." 

“I do not know your heart, my child," he spoke 
again, “but be sure God knows. Between Himself 
and us, there is nothing hidden; we need not try to 
hide, and when we love, we do not. Our sorrows and 
our sins are our Gethsemanes. Through them we all 
must pass ere we can share the glories of the resur- 
rection of our souls." 

Every word the Bishop said poured healing on her 
bleeding heart. His very presence seemed a blessing, 
while his kind words and face and voice filled her ach- 
ing heart with hope and reassurance. 

When at last he rose to leave and she was trying 
to express her gratitude, he stopped her. “No, no, 
my child. Thank God, not me. It is His gift you 
have to-day." 

“But you came to me, a stranger," she persisted. 

“Have you forgotten that Christ came to the world 
when it had strayed away in sin? I can do so little 
while the Master can do all. Give all your thanks to 
Him." And after he had gone, she stood where he 


THE JUDGMENT 


193 


had left her. Her hands still felt his gentle touch, her 
heart still beat responsive to his farewell blessing. 
''God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy 
Ghost, be with you forevermore.’’ 

When he was there it seemed an easy thing to say: 
"I will confess my sins to God,” but after he was gone, 
her greatest trial came. 

No longer supported by his gracious kindness, re- 
minding her of the great love and pity and all sufficing 
loving kindness of the Heavenly Father, she had now 
no one to succor her in her hour of agony. 

"Must I give him up? Must I slay our love? No! 
no!” Her heart cried out in agony. "It will kill me 
to forsake love now. Oh, God, not that ! Let me take 
some other way — not that ; at least, not now that love 
has come; not now.” 

But to temptation’s whispers her awakened con- 
science cried: 

"No, no, I dare not even tell him why I go. For 
my sin, I must forever bear in silent loneliness our 
secret. If I should tell him, he would claim me all 
the more, and make retreat impossible, by the knowl- 
edge of his parent’s claim, but since he does not know, 
and if I leave him now, life may some day again smile 
on him. Yes, for my wickedness, I must resign the 
man I love, or sink to everlasting death beneath God’s 
wrath. It is His will that I must expiate my sin by 
giving up for all this world, the man I love — for how 
I love him, God alone can know — as mine — my own — 
and, oh, God ! — forgive me, as the father of my child. 

It was a long and weary battle before she reached 
the end; before she conquered her heart that* begged 
protection. 

Then she wrote the long despairing letter, telling 


194 


THE JUDGMENT 


him of her decision to return to Manning; told him 
how her soul had awakened and with every breath 
condemned the course they planned. ‘T never can or 
will deny our love, for that is all the world to me/' 
she wrote, ''but let us place it past our own tempta- 
tion, and try to live and hope while living here, for 
God’s forgiveness in the end where He may grant to 
us eternal life together.” 

Through the long hours she wrote, pouring out to 
him her aching heart, and telling him all the tempta- 
tions which her love for him had whispered, and tell- 
ing him at the end, her soul’s replies to all love’s 
pleading. 

"To leave him and go back to that — my God!” she 
cried, upon her knees, late in the night, beside the 
sleeping child. "It is Gethsemane, and to-morrow, 
when I take up my cross again, begins my cruci- 
fixion. Oh ! help me Christ, I beg. I see the way that 
I must go, but help me, help me, or I cannot press 
ahead. Gentle Savior, help me. Teach me to wear 
my crown of thorns and in the end let me take my 
little child and follow Thee the best I can.” 

Joe, wakened at the sobs, and frightened at her 
tortured face, clung to her, weeping. 

"Hush! hush! my child.” Her arms around him, 
they clung together in the silent night. "We have 
each other. Love me Joe, for upon earth I have no 
one but you. Oh ! help me, baby, by your love, and 
dear Christ help me to say — 'Thy will be done.’ ” 


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195 


CHAPTER XVH 


When Gregory came the next morning, his step 
was alert and his face was eager. He hastened to his 
room and there he found Eleanor's letter. The open- 
ing words lined his face, before so full of happiness. 

“Leave me now! Oh, God! It shall not be." He 
would not read it all, in his haste to find her. 

At his sudden coming, she rose with a stifled cry 
of longing, and at love denied full utterance. He 
caught her close and held her. “You are mine," he 
told her, “mine by God's almighty law of love. Let 
no man dare to come between us." 

“Wait — listen," she insisted. 

“No — even to your own arguments I am deaf. I 
will not hear them. Not even you shall take my love 
away from me — not now." 

“You must! It is decided by a higher power. Oh, 
love, my dear, dear love, can you not see, do you not 
know that we must part?" 

“Part! No! I refuse to listen." He held her tight 
despite her feeble efforts to release herself. “There is 
not in all the world, one who comes between us now." 
His eyes and lips on hers, his arm defying parting 
as he held her close against him. “After this?" he 
questioned, when his lips left hers. 

“After all” she told him. 


196 


THE JUDGMENT 


^‘You are mad, Eleanor. You do not know what 
you propose.’’ His voice was growing harder. ''You 
cannot love me and suggest our parting now.” 

"Cannot love you ! God only knows how much I 
do,” she answered through her tears. 

"Then let us say no more of this. Love is not 
lightly put aside, and our love makes us one. I am 
yours and you are mine, and no man dare gainsay it.” 

"It is not man, but God.” She drew herself away 
from him a little way, looked in his face, and told him 
through the tears that choked her — told him so he 
knew at last her meaning. "It cannot be; I must re- 
turn. This is my expiation for the sin of loving you.” 

"It is no sin — such love as ours, for God himself 
has made it.” His voice had sunk to pleading. 

"Perhaps some day in God’s eternal daytime wc 
may be together, what our hearts now make us, one. 
But not now, my love, not now, for through this world 
I must continue bound. Through all my life my only 
hope outside my child, is for mercy from a gentle God. 
That in my unceasing penance He may see some 
reason for forgiveness, and, oh ! my love — my love, 
my love — for you, all I can do is pray to that God of 
mercy that you may — forget ” Her fortitude for- 
sook her. 

"You shall not go.” He caught her as she tried 
to pass. 

"Oh, God! how hard,” she moaned. "If you would 
only leave me, Hal, instead. But for me to have to 
go — to say good-by to you — to you who mean all life 
to me.” Her tortured eyes told of the struggle plainer 
than her broken words. 

"A few hours, darling,” he begged. "I must see 
you again,” with all the hopefulness of love. 


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197 


‘‘No, Hal, it must be now. While yet I can, I will. 
All that I beg of you is that when your suffering shall 
cease, you try to think of me, the best you can for 
love’s dear sake, and try — oh, try — to understand.” 

“Eleanor, oh, Eleanor!” he begged. 

From her trembling lips, the slow words fell: “I 
must. For both our souls, I must. I dare not grant 
what God forbids. As he gave up his life for love 
shall not I follow in His path to prove my faith in 
Him. God’s judgment, Hal, has fallen on me, and I 
must bow beneath His will, and make this attestation 
of repentance for my sin. May Christ accept it.” 

“Oh, Eleanor! Eleanor, you are not leaving me! 
Now!” Their eyes clung in question, and in anguished 
answer ’till she again found strength. 

“Oh, my dear, because I must — because I must — or 
fail,” she hardly whispered. She reached the door, 
turned back to look at him, where he sat, his head 
bowed to the table. 

Blinded by tears, she groped for aid, and begged: 
“It is Thy will — dear Christ, lead me, lead me — away.” 

The door opened with her touch as if it were only 
half fastened, but in her distress, she did not notice 
that and stumbled on to fall against a man who stood 
within the other room. The room where she and the 
child had slept. “Oh!” she cried, falling back, her 
arms raised, as if to ward off a sudden blow. 

At the sound, Gregory lifted his head, as Manning 
stepped into the door; a cruel snarling smile was on 
his face, and Eleanor shrank from it as from a lash. 
Manning sneered at Eleanor, indicating Gregory. 
Gregory saw, and quickly came to her side. 

“A new acquaintance, or an old, may I inquire? 


198 THE JUDGMENT 

One might think I had surprised you. Pray, let me 
not intrude.'’ 

Gregory stepped toward him. ''Say what you have 
to say to me, not her." 

"And why to you, I'd like to know. Do men speak 
to their wives through other men, always, down here? 
A custom of your country?" 

"You scoundrel! You have listened, and you know 
why you must settle this thing with me." 

"No, no, I am the one. Let him blame me," Elea- 
nor tried to come between them, but Gregory caught 
her arm. "Leave it with me — you must," he urged. 

"Yes, you need not be so hasty," in Manning's cruel 
laugh. "Your time will come when I am ready. Are 
you afraid that I shall hurt your pretty man?" 

"Hurry, you cur ! or I shall tire of waiting." Gregory 
was close to him now. "What do you want?" 

"What should a man want, who finds an unfaith- 
ful wife in her lover's arms?" Manning snarled, turn- 
ing again on Eleanor. "If you were not satisfied at 
home, why did you not take DeWitte? Or did you, 
and was the picture really true, and the pretty little 
scene in his studio only a rehearsal after all? As you 
have the choice of several, you could hardly be con- 
tent with this one” 

Eleanor's face was in her hands, and she did not 
see Gregory's quick advance until Manning was thrust 
against the wall by the hands at his throat. Then she 
caught at Gregory's arm, and held to him, pleading: 
"For my sake, Hal, I beg you stop." 

Manning staggered from Gregory's grasp, choking 
with rage. 

"Yes, protect him, hold him!" he flung the words 
at Eleanor, in lieu of other attacks for which he had 


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199 


no desire, after the touch of Gregory’s hand upon his 
throat. ''Perhaps you will try your lies on me after 
what I have seen and heard!” he continued to rage 
at her. 

"Since you have seen and heard, you know that not- 
withstanding all, she was renouncing me to return to 
her life with you. Now, she will see this is impossible ; 
you yourself will show her that it cannot be, and how 
much better it is to accept the love I lay before her,” 
Gregory answered, giving her no time to speak. 

"And you dare to stand before me while he declares 
your guilty love?” Manning turned on Eleanor again. 
"You, whom I took from beggary, clothed you, fed 
you, took you in my home, endured your silly mother’s 
tears, listened to your 'hysterics,’ and tried to make 
something of you in spite of yourself ; and you, in re- 
turn, engage yourself in illicit love with the first 
smooth-tongued adventurer you meet.” An inarticu- 
late "a-ah !” came from Gregory, trying to free himself 
from her detaining hands, while Manning went on : 
"You deceived us a long time. I’ll admit, but you 
could not fool me always, and I’ve had you watched 
for weeks. Every day since you came here you have 
been shadowed by men hired by me. Don’t you think 
I know women well enough to know that each one has 
a lover. If not in her husband, she’ll find him as you 
have — in someone else. Your coldness to me opened 
my eyes, and made me decide to learn the other side 
of you. I have — and now do you think I would have 
you again? If you imagine that you can come back 
to me since your lover here is through with you, after 
all this pretty play, and enjoy again my protection 
and my money, you are wrong. Now that he’s got 
you, let him keep you. I don’t want you again.” 


200 


THE JUDGMENT 


‘^Release me, Eleanor, he shall not say these things/^ 
Gregory begged, but Eleanor would not loosen her 
hands, and without force, he could not. 

^'Oh! when I can choke those words down your 
lying throat, you cowardly hound!'' Gregory cried, and 
Manning gave himself a few more feet of space with 
Eleanor between them, before he began again. 

“Yes, stay with him, wanton, you shan't come back 
to me. I've got all I want. Look!" He threw wider 
the door and disclosed the bed where the child had 
lain — now empty. 

Eleanor's gasping, choking scream stopped in her 
throat before it found full voice: “My baby — oh, my 
God! You've stolen him!" 

“Not stolen, I should say. I have taken my child 
from an impure mother; you have hardly dared to 
think you could keep him with your paramour?" 

“My child! My child!" Her wild hands beat her 
head, and she flung herself on Manning, as if she 
meant to tear the secret from his throat. “Tell me, 
tell me," she panted, “where have you taken him? — you 
thief!" 

“Thief," he mocked her. “Because I take my child?" 

“He is not yours. He is mine ! He is mine — mine — 
mine. Give him back to me! Give him back!" 

“Not mine? Then whose if not mine? Surely not 
DeWitte's, or," pointing to Gregory, “not his, since 
he's a new one. You have not known him long 
enough, so he can hardly claim him. No, however 
much you hate to own it, he is mine. I have him safe 
and I will keep him, too." 

“Oh, Gbd! You fiend — give him back to me. Give 
him back!" 

“Not much. It's my time now," Manning exulted. 


THE JUDGMENT 


201 


‘‘Take your lover, that ought to be enough for you, 
unless he runs away. But even if he does, don’t come 
to me. I have all I need, I tell you. You can go.” 

“But my child — oh, I will beg — on my knees I will 
beg — anything but that — anything! Do what you will 
to me, I will not murmur. I do not deny that it is 
as you say, I do not deny my love for him, which you 
call by the words you’ve used. I will agree to any- 
thing. All I ask is to give me my child.” 

“You ask one thing too much,” he told her, triumph- 
ing in her heartbroken pleas. 

“Oh, no! you cannot — surely you cannot take away 
my little child. You cannot, you shall not! I will 
appeal to the law. I would rather he died than be 
reared by you — you fiend — for he is mine, not yours — 
all mine,” she cried, forgetting caution, forgetting 
everything but that the child was gone. 

“Not mine, then zvhose?” he bent to her and sneered. 

“Mine, mine — all mine!” 

“Hardly! He had to have a father didn’t he? Can 
you prove it is not I ?” 

Even in the heavy beat of woe upon her brain, Elea- 
nor heard, and her soul in torture cried: 

“Can I prove it? Dare I prove it, and blast my little 
child with everlasting shame? Brand him! Oh, God! 
Not that. Where can I turn? Where shall I go for 
aid, for I must have him. I cannot, will not let him 

She did not know that Gregory was by her side, 
where she had flung herself at Manning’s feet, and his 
words were less than murmurs in her ears. He turned, 
to Manning: “Can nothing move you? Will you not 
settle this with me, or are you incapable of striking 
me except through her? God! man, what kind of crea- 


202 


THE JUDGMENT 


ture are you? She has done little wrong in loving 
me. Can she be blamed because she hated you? Can’t 
you come out as man to man? For God’s sake don’t 
use such weapons as the child!” 

Manning answered him now, since Eleanor was past 
his words. ''And you have loved her, you say? How 
long?” 

"I have loved her since I met her four months ago. 
I do and shall as long as I have life — if she will change 
her decision of refusing me, she will find me always 
ready to do her homage as the best, the purest and the 
bravest woman in the world. Will you agree to leave 
the choice with her? Will you give her child to her, 
and let her choose between us — choose between our 
love, and her strained sense of duty where you are 
concerned ?” 

Manning’s laugh rang through the rooms. "Why 
should I make terms with wantons? It is as I say — 
my time has come. I see you want to put her back 
on me — but as you took her, keep her.” 

Before the words were out, Gregory struck at him, 
but with a quick step aside, the blow was lost; then, 
like a madman, Gregory ran at him again determined 
this time to have his way, but Manning’s gesture was 
not meaningless, and his pistol was in Gregory’s face. 
"Stand back or I will shoot!” he screamed shrilly. 
"Do you think I’ll fight with you for her? Stand 
back, and let me go!” But Gregory was upon him. 
"Then fire, but she shall have her child, for before I 
die. I’ll kill you, dog!” and the hand holding the 
weapon was caught and held. 

The noise brought Eleanor, disheveled and wild- 
eyed, toward them. She did not speak, but her face 
told her tragic story. Gregory was struggling for 



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THE JUDGMENT 


203 


the pistol, and Manning, brought to bay, was fighting 
a desperate coward's fight. They came close to her, 
so close they touched her dress, but she did not change 
her place, and only her lips were moving in inarticu- 
late prayers. 

Again they came against her, and the panting of the 
men was louder. Manning’s face was purple in the 
choking grasp upon his collar, for Gregory was 
grimly pushing him against the wall. 

With a snarling noise from Manning, Eleanor 
turned and saw that Gregory was losing his hold. His 
foot had slipped and lost him his advantage. Manning 
knew it, too, and a look was on his face that few men 
care to own, the look that tells of murder in the heart. 

Then Eleanor sprang and caught his arm. The 
pistol shot rang out clear and loud, and Manning’s 
snarl was heard with it. Gregory still held him. He 
did not fall or say a word, and his face was paler 
as he struggled for a securer grasp upon the other 
man, but Eleanor released her hold, and slowly began to 
fall. Then Gregory saw, and with a strength beyond 
the normal strength of man, he cast the other man against 
the wall crying: ‘‘Oh, my God! you have shot her.” 

Sobered, Manning, too, came toward her, trying as 
best he could to hide the smoking weapon. 

On his knees beside her, now fallen to the floor, 
Gregory raised her head and caught her whispers: 
“Do not grieve, my love. This is release. This is 
the way in which my baby can be saved my shame.’^ 

“Oh, love, my love, my love!” he cried, but the 
blood that ran across his hands was his best answer, 
and the voice he loved grew fainter. “Lean nearer, 
dear,” she whispered, “I must tell you again how I 
have loved you. Watch him all his life, for me, for 


204 


THE JUDGMENT 


he is ours, Tis time to tell you now, that he may 
have a friend. Let me whisper — nearer, dear — and do 
not turn away. Your tears are dear to me — though 
you cannot take him, for his mother’s shame — keep 
close to him — help him to make a man, for can’t you 
see— dear one — I tell you — he is ours ” 

‘‘All that you love is mine, too, to love forever,” he 
told her brokenly, his tears upon her face, as yet not 
understanding all her meaning. 

“But — I — must — make you see — before I go ” 

she panted, with her shortening breath. “Ours — 
Harold — ours — I am she — the other woman — whom 
you loved.” 

In a flash he saw. “Oh, God — No! No! Not you!” 
and half recoiled. Then her face grew whiter, more 
contorted with the pain. “Yes — even if you spurn me 

— now — I must tell — you — the — truth — I am ” 

But Gregory would not let her finish what she tried 
to say. 

“Eleanor ! Eleanor !” he sobbed, contrite at his first 
quick recoil, now past all utterance of sorrow. “For- 
give me — oh, forgive me! Try to say you do.” 

“I am the one to seek forgiveness,” she tried to com- 
fort him; but he would not listen, and his grief was 
past control. 

“There is no use — to look for pity — from a man like 
him,” she turned her face to where Manning had 
stood. “He would not — give me back — my child — this 
is the only way — let us thank the God of mercy for 
the release he sends to me. Even our love would have 
been blighted here — and where — I hope — to go — we 

may meet again — and have to part— no more ” 

Her voice was sunk to whispers and through his sobs, 
he caught the words : “Let there be — no taint — on 



'‘But — / must — make you see before I go.” 

"Ours — BJarold ours — I am she — the other ivoman ivhom — 
you loved.” 



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THE JUDGMENT 


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him — and teach him, if you can — of how I loved him — 
so — that I was glad — to — go — that he might — never 
have to know.” 

'‘Eleanor, Eleanor,” he begged again, but her an- 
swer came so slowly, and he had to bend to catch the 
words: "For God so loved — the world — that whomso- 
ever believed — in Him — should not perish — but have 
— everlasting life — whosoever — whosoever — dear love, 
think of it, Hal — whosoever believed ” The whis- 

pers came in gasps, "should not — perish — but — have 
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